Personal Demons
by Jedicren
Summary: Tension erupts at NCIS when Jeanne returns to D.C., pursued by an arms dealer searching for a naval weapon previously owned by her father. Tony struggles to maintain control and keep his developing relationship with Ziva a secret. TIVA, complete
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Summary:** Set at the end of season 7; Tension erupts at NCIS when Jeanne returns in need of protection. TIVA

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything. it all belongs to CBS and its affiliates.

**Note: **This is an introduction, to see if anyone is even interested in reading.

* * *

_Monday 08:00_

Tony took off his aviators and hooked them onto the front of his shirt as he repeatedly punched the 'up' button on the elevator. He swore under his breath as he turned dejectedly toward the stairwell.

"Elevator broken?" McGee's voice broke Tony's thought process.

"Either that, or Gibbs has a meeting." The two men audibly sighed and headed toward the stairs. Tony shifted his backpack as he ascended, cursing McGee's energy level as he trudged behind him. "You're bounding," he said flatly. "Like a yearling in the dandelions."

From above him, he heard McGee chuckle and push open the door to NCIS.

The office seemed quiet for a Monday morning, however, there was a stack of manila envelopes on Tony's desk and a dozen more in his in-box. He tossed his backpack under the desk and shook his jacket off. The weekend had gone by quickly. Though he was grateful for the rare two days off, it made it harder to return on Monday. Ignoring the stack of papers on his desk, he twisted around in his chair so he could see McGee.

"What makes you so chipper this morning?" he asked.

"I didn't know I needed a reason to be in a good mood, Tony." McGee continued to type, ignoring Tony's enquiring stare.

"It's Monday," he stated.

McGee continued typing. "I am aware of the day."

"Nobody's in a good mood on Monday."

McGee hit 'enter' and folded his arms. "Just because you're not in a good mood on Monday doesn't mean nobody else can enjoy it."

"They don't say 'I've got case of the Tuesdays,' or 'Fridays.' It's always Monday, McGee."

"_Who _says that?"

"It doesn't matter. It's true. Stop your good mood, it's ruining my melancholy." Tony turned his chair back toward his computer and powered it on.

"Where is Gibbs?" Ziva swept past Tony, carrying a watering can, moving toward her potted plant. "I have not seen him this morning."

"I'm sure he's here somewhere, lurking around the corner, waiting for one of us to say something about him so he can…" Tony trailed off and whipped around to look behind him.

Ziva raised her eyebrows. "He is not behind you, Tony."

"Huh," Tony shrugged, "usually works."

The three agents settled into their morning routine of reviewing new case files and closing solved ones. By ten-thirty, Tony was through half the stack of papers on his desk. As he stood up to stretch his legs and refill his coffee, he peered over to his boss's still empty desk. The computer was off, which was not abnormal, but an empty coffee mug and an open dossier file suggested that Gibbs was in the building. Tony was hit with an uneasy feeling. He hadn't seen Vance come in yet this morning either, nor had he noticed the man leaving to take his normal coffee break.

"Tony?" Ziva's voice broke the silence. "What is it?" Her dark brown eyes bore into him, searching him.

"I don't know," he paused, "It's too quiet." He undid the top button of his shirt and readjusted the holster around his shoulders so that it wasn't digging into his skin. Walking over to Gibbs' desk, he spun the open file around, hoping to get a better look.

Ziva and McGee were standing behind him when he turned, holding it in his hands.

"Well?" McGee asked.

"Nothing. Just the case file from last week, waiting for the rest of his signature."

"The rest of his signature?" Ziva pulled the paper out of his hands and stared at it. She shook her head, "It says Leroy Jeth…. As if he vanished mid-scribble."

McGee furrowed his brow, "There's something going on. Gibbs would never leave something unfinished for…" he looked at his watch, "over two hours."

"I believe we are about to find out."

Tony turned to see where Ziva was looking. Gibbs was hurriedly walking out of the Director's office, eyes glued to a thick case file. The team watched as he took the stairs in twos. As he rounded Ziva's cubicle, they turned to face him. His eyes were set, mouth a hard line. He slapped the file closed and pushed it toward McGee.

"McGee, David… read this," he spoke straight at Tony.

Tony swallowed.

"When I get back, I want to know everything about the people in that file… including where they are right now and what they had for breakfast this morning."

Tony was afraid to break eye contact.

Ziva spoke up, "Gibbs, is there something wr—."

"It's in the file, Ziva." He paused. "DiNozzo… with me."

Tony's mind reeled. He couldn't think of anything he had done wrong lately that would warrant Gibb's irritation. He had been on his best behavior since the incident a few months prior with the obnoxious prince and the yoga instructor. In fact, he had only been mildly sarcastic toward local law enforcement recently. His mind swam as he followed his boss through the interrogation room hallway. He watched him pull open a door, look inside, and then hold it open for Tony to enter. Tony stepped inside and Gibbs pulled the door shut behind them. He leaned against the recording board and rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful.

After a few seconds, Tony couldn't handle the silence anymore. "Boss, what is this about?"

Gibbs crossed his legs at the ankles, looking at something above Tony's head. A few seconds went by before he answered. His eyes returned to Tony's. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Jeanne."

Tony's stomach fell to his knees. He had not expected to hear that name again. He did his best to remain expressionless, trying not to allow Gibbs to see the scars. His mind shot to his ex-lover's face the last time he saw her. Her eyes were dark, torn with pain. Fury mixed with sadness, stabbing him through the chest as she disappeared behind the elevator doors. Anger surged through his body as he remembered her accusation and the interrogation that followed.

He took a short breath, cleared his mind and forced a nonchalant smirk. "What about… her?" his voice caught and he fought to maintain eye contact with Gibbs. He couldn't say her name. His voice would break, and Gibbs would see right through him. Tony focused.

"She's in trouble."

He stared into Gibb's eyes, maintaining a stony expression. "I don't see what that has to do with us."

Gibbs face was soft, his voice still gentle. "She asked for our help."

Tony leaned against the wall and turned his head toward the door. There were so many thoughts battling for his attention. She was the only woman he had ever loved. He had lied to her, gained her trust, and then betrayed her. There was no way he could undo the torment he had caused both of them. The thought of facing her made him nauseous.

"Tony."

He raised his eyes toward the man standing opposite him.

"Say the word, and I'll reassign you until it's over." Gibbs was two feet away from him now; his unwavering stare penetrating every fiber of Tony's being.

"No."

Gibbs nodded.

Tony took a breath and managed a half-smile. "We all have our demons. Mine just happens to come in the form of a leggy brunette."

Gibbs put his hand on the door of the interrogation room and looked back toward Tony. "Redheads," he said.

* * *

_Phoof_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Personal Demons

**Chapter:** Two

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own it.

* * *

_Monday 12:00_

Ziva was leaning over McGee's shoulder, memorizing the information on his computer screen when Gibbs returned to the bullpen. She thought it odd that Tony was nowhere in sight. She did not like being left in the dark, especially when it concerned her job.

"Alright, what do we got?" Gibbs asked, stopping at the large screen in the center of the room and crossing his arms.

McGee hit "enter" and transferred the information from his computer screen to the one Gibbs stood in front of. He and Ziva moved to stand on either side of their boss. First up were two mug shots, both men appearing to be in their mid-thirties.

"Henri Lefèvre and Bruno Benoît. Obviously French, arrested in '92 for smuggling illegal explosives into Switzerland. Neither did any jail time. They were released on a technicality," McGee clicked to the next screen. "In 2006, they made the FBI's most wanted list for their association with the illegal arms trade. They were last seen in Mexico but were never apprehended."

Ziva pulled a sheet of paper from the file and handed it to Gibbs, "Lefèvre has a strange wife living in Tours, France. I spoke to the woman's sister, who claims that—," Ziva was interrupted by Tony's voice.

"ES-stranged, Ziva," he said. "They haven't seen one another in awhile." He was leaning against his desk, legs crossed at the ankles, watching the monitor. If he had been lectured by Gibbs, it had not been overly traumatic. He appeared to be okay; though sometimes appearances could be deceiving when it came to Tony.

Ziva smirked, "Well, that makes much more sense. I thought she was just being rude."

"What. Did. She. Say?" Gibbs was looking at Ziva with an impatient expression.

"The woman's sister said it has been five years since he left, and no one has heard from him." She added, "I believe she was telling the truth, Gibbs. She sounded… angry."

"So we don't know where either of these two are?" Gibbs irritation was visible as he tossed the paper back at Ziva. "Do. Better." He turned toward his desk and picked up the phone.

"Actually, Boss, this is where it gets weird," McGee flipped the screen again.

"Weird how, McGee?"

"These two men dropped off the radar four years ago; however, their names have sprung up in multiple email messages, all sent from the same computer, all within the last four months," he answered, pointing at the highlighted messages on the screen.

Gibbs put his phone down and moved to stand next to Ziva. "Do these messages give any clue as to where they are?"

McGee enlarged one of the emails, "The receiving address is encrypted, but Abby is working on that right now. It appears that Benoît has been in the States as recently as March, and it mentions a meeting with Henri Lefèvre in Paris that happened December of last year."

Gibbs moved closer to the screen, reading the highlighted portions of the message. "Anything else?"

Ziva nodded, "They are looking for something. We are not sure _what_, but we do know it is highly illegal and potentially… explosive." She paused, shooting a glance toward Tony, who was still silently staring at the screen. She chose her next words carefully, "And we also know that "it" was last possessed by La Grenouille." Even at this last line, Tony's face remained mask-like. His expression was stony, not even a twitch of recognition at the name. _He already knows,_ she decided.

"I'm not as concerned with the "what" as I am with the "where"," Gibbs said.

Ziva furrowed her brow, "the "what" seems to be important enough to bring these two men out of hiding."

Gibbs turned to her and took the thick file from her hands, "It is, David."

She studied his expression as he closed the file. "It is not important… because you already know."

"Yup."

"And we are going to find out where "it" is?" McGee asked, shutting the screen down.

"Follow me," Gibbs said, motioning with the file and moving toward the conference room. Ziva saw Gibbs shoot a glance at Tony as he walked past. Their eyes met, and Tony discreetly nodded. Ziva traded puzzled expressions with McGee, who shrugged and made to follow Gibbs. A thousand different options flew through Ziva's head; every one of them circled back to the one person who could cause a reaction like this. The woman that shared a last name with one of the men in the case file…

Jeanne Benoît.

When the team reached the conference room, Gibbs flipped the lights on and punched a button on the phone. After a second, he said, "We're ready," and hung up. Ziva glanced at the display and saw the extension he dialed was for Director Vance. She had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Braving a second look at Tony as she pulled out a chair and sat down, she saw the same mask plastered on his face. He met her eyes briefly. It was in his green irises that she saw the pain, as if someone had repeatedly punched him in the gut and left him to suffer. For a moment, the wall went down, and he allowed her to see his worry. The trip to Paris a few weeks back had altered the dynamic of their relationship in more ways than one. She had made the weighted decision to let him back in, and he was returning the favor now.

Gibbs broke the silence, and Tony's eyes glazed back over. "Five years ago, there was a break-in at a naval facility in Norfolk. The only thing discovered missing was the blueprint to a new weapons system. A high profile mole was suspected, and the plans were found a week later in the house of a physicist who worked on the project."

McGee nodded, "and he admitted to stealing it?"

"Not quite." Leon Vance answered the question as he pushed the conference room door open. "He was found dead in his apartment a week after the break-in. The blueprint was recovered, and his death was labeled a suicide. A few months later, a rumor started circulating that a copy had been sold to a high-profile arms dealer."

The pieces started to fall together. "La Grenouille," Ziva stated.

Vance moved further into the room, holding the door open. For the first time, Ziva noticed the woman standing behind the director. Her brown hair was longer than the last time Ziva had seen her. Her lips were pursed, blue eyes lowered nervously. Jeanne Benoît entered the room slowly, with a look that suggested she would rather be anywhere else on the planet than in the headquarters of NCIS.

Vance pulled an empty chair out for her, and she smoothed her khaki skirt as she lowered herself into it. "I'm sure all of you remember Miss. Benoît?" he said, glancing around the room.

Ziva felt herself nod mechanically, staring at the woman sitting opposite her. She shifted her eyes to Tony, whose expression had not wavered. It was as if he had been expecting her to walk through the door. His jaw was set, eyes down, body rigid.

"So someone murdered the scientist, copied the blueprint, and sold it to the highest bidder," McGee surmised.

"That's what we think," Vance answered. "Then, it gets complicated."

Ziva nodded, "because La Grenouille…" she stopped herself from finishing, braving a look at Jeanne.

Jeanne raised her chin and spoke for the first time. "It's okay," she allowed. "My father died, and so did any evidence that he was in possession of the document."

"So how do we know he _did_ have it?" McGee asked.

"We don't," Gibbs answered, fingering the file in front of him.

"What we _do_ know, is that someone believes he did, and is willing to kill anyone who gets in the way of finding it." Vance leaned back and chewed on his toothpick, letting the words settle in. "Four months ago, Miss. Benoît began receiving anonymous phone calls from someone demanding she disclose the location of a safety deposit box her father rented."

Ziva tapped her fingers against the table, "did you have any idea what was supposedly in it?"

Jeanne looked up at Ziva and shook her head, "no. I assumed I had all his affairs in order. The safety deposit box I cleared out in our hometown was filled with family relics… worthless to anyone else."

"We'll need to see the contents," Gibbs stated softly.

She nodded, "I will give you anything you need, Agent Gibbs."

"I'm assuming this goes beyond phone calls?" Tony said, speaking for the first time since they entered the room. He didn't look up at Jeanne when he asked the question.

Her eyes shot to his face for a split second. "About a month later, someone broke into my family's estate in Tours. My father's sister was the only person there at the time," she took a deep breath before finishing, "she was found tied to a chair, her throat cut."

Ziva shuddered. For the first time, she looked at Jeanne's face. The woman looked exhausted, dark circles visible under her eyes. Ziva felt for her, she had obviously been through quite an ordeal.

"I am guessing that they did not find what they were searching for," she said.

"At my aunt's funeral, my cousin, Henri, asked to speak with me. We met at the house later… he told me that if I knew anything about the location of the Naval weapon that my father had, I needed to tell him. It was then that I realized this was more than just a missing file. I flew to Washington D.C. without telling anyone." Tears were running down her cheeks. She took a breath and wiped her eyes, "my first night here, before I… called NCIS, two men broke into my apartment. They said I needed to come with them, help them find whatever it was my father had."

"What happened?" McGee asked.

"I hit one with a cast iron frying pan," she said.

"He's currently in the ICU at Georgetown," Vance finished.

Everyone flinched.

Jeanne continued, tears were now streaming down her pale cheeks and her voice was a whisper, "The other man was too fast… he pulled his gun and pointed it at—at my daughter."

Ziva's head shot up at these last words. She had not known Jeanne to have children. This thought was interrupted by Tony, rising from his chair.

He was halfway through the door before he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry," he said smoothly, "you'll have to excuse me for a moment."

Gibbs continued through the interruption, "Have they contacted you since then?"

"I received a phone call this morning. They gave me forty-eight hours."

"You'll need to give us everything you recovered from your father's estate. Bank statements, investment information, phone records…"

She nodded. "Anything."

"Including everything that pertains to your father's… occupation," Ziva added, narrowing her eyes at the woman. Irritation at Jeanne and sympathy for Tony made her tone sound clipped.

Jeanne raised her chin. "I am not as naïve about my father's illegal activities as I once was, Agent… David." Her eyes flitted from Ziva's name badge back to her face.

"Da-vid," Ziva pronounced her last name correctly as she rose from her seat, eyes never leaving Jeanne's.

"The NCIS team in France is scouring every inch of La Grenouille's estates," Vance said, "we will be collaborating with them over the next few hours. In the meantime, Jeanne is under NCIS protection."

"What if you can't find what they're looking for?" she asked. "My daughter-,"

"Will be alright," Gibbs said, leaning forward toward Jeanne. "We will find her."

Jeanne smiled tightly. "Thank you. I am sorry to have to put you in this position."

"You did the right thing, Jeanne. Coming here may have saved your daughter," Gibbs stood and tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash. The rest of the group rose from their chairs as Ziva made her way toward the door. As she passed Jeanne, she felt a hand on her arm.

She turned Ziva around so they were face to face, "I adopted Leah two years ago when I was in South Africa." Her message was clear.

Ziva nodded, "I will tell him." She followed Gibbs out the door, leaving Jeanne in the conference room with Director Vance.

* * *

13:30

Tony was sitting on the counter in the men's room, leaning his head against the mirror, when Ziva opened the door. She sighed when she saw his expression.

"I'm fine," he said.

She shut the door firmly behind her. "If you were fine, you would not be hiding in the men's room, yes?" she asked, moving toward where he sat. She stopped in front of him, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Tony appreciated her attempt to appear nonthreatening. It was a tactic she used on criminals when she wanted them to start talking.

"I'm not hiding."

"You are."

He thumped his head against the mirror and looked up at the ceiling. He was tired of trying to make sense of the thoughts racing through his brain. He had been sitting in that conference room, trying to focus, but feeling like someone was holding a pillow over his face. He hated himself just then.

"She adopted the girl."

"I didn't think it was mine, Ziva." Was that the truth? He didn't know… his gut said that if the girl was his, she would have told him. As angry as Jeanne probably was at him, she was a good person. That was the one truth he held on to. Ziva was watching him closely. He tried to smile, but it came through as more of a grimace. She moved forward and placed her hands on his thighs. A shiver shot down his spine. At least one part of his body was still kicking. He felt like he'd be run over by a bus… no, a bus was too small a vehicle. Train… definitely a train. Ziva's voice interrupted his morbid thought.

"Tony… Gibbs would understand if you wanted off this case," she said softly.

He shook his head. "I can't." He needed to finish this chapter once and for all. He had lived a thousand lifetimes since Jeanne Benoît. He had thought the book was closed, returned to the library of life, so to speak.

"Talk to me," she said.

He sighed and leaned forward to rest his head against Ziva's. He was breaking all the rules today. "Later," he kissed her forehead, "you know we can't do this now, Ziva. Anyone could walk in."

As if the Gods had heard him, the bathroom door opened to reveal McGee. Tony silently applauded his associate's restraint. If Tim was surprised to see the two of them alone in the head—Ziva's hands firmly planted on Tony's thighs—his face did not reveal it.

Tony plastered on a fake smile, "McGee, we are having a moment here." He motioned between himself and Ziva using heavily exaggerated movements for emphasis.

McGee rolled his eyes, "boss is looking for you," he paused and smirked back at Tony, "I can tell him you're… indisposed."

Tony snorted, "Not necessary, moment's ruined." He shot Ziva a charming smile and hopped off the counter. "Right, Agent David?"

She played along well, "I hope it was as good for you, Agent DiNozzo."

"Oh, it was." He winked at her.

He walked past McGee and wagged his eyebrows, internally relieved that it had been him to walk in. As much as Tony used to torment him, McGee had proved himself a reliable partner over the past few years. If he suspected anything, he was keeping it to himself. Tony had no doubt that it would stay that way.

* * *

14:00

Gibbs was standing in the bullpen, arms crossed, waiting for Tony. He understood the difficult situation the case presented for the younger agent. But, that was life. He kept his face stern as Tony rounded the corner.

"With me, DiNozzo." He motioned Tony to follow as he walked toward the elevator. He suppressed a smile as he heard the audible gulp. When they were safely inside, Gibbs punched the emergency stop button.

"I'm sor-." Tony started.

"Rule number-."

"I know." DiNozzo looked up at Gibbs and offered a tight smile.

"Find your head, Tony. I need you." This much was true. If they were going to solve this, every second that Tony had spent with this woman would be valuable.

"I know," he repeated. He turned away and rubbed his forehead. Gibbs thought he looked exhausted. He didn't blame him, but it didn't change anything.

"Can you do this, Agent DiNozzo?" he asked after a minute.

Tony turned around, a fierce expression on his face. He thrust his finger toward the elevator door, his voice louder than before, "I royally screwed that girl, boss." He looked incredulous.

"You did your job, Tony."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, but you and I both know that it _stopped_ being about the job. I let it continue to suit my own needs." He shook his head, "she didn't deserve what I—what _we_ put her through."

Gibbs maintained eye contact. Tony had more depth than people gave him credit for. The last time Gibbs had seen him this upset was after Vance had denied his initial request to locate Saleem.

When he spoke again, his tone was softer, more controlled. "Jeanne trusted me." He sighed, "Can I do this? Sure I can." He looked disgusted. "But it's not _me_ that I am worried about, Gibbs."

Gibbs always felt unprepared for this side of Tony; he was used to the bravado and the constant clowning around. There was a deeper part of him, though, that had developed over the past seven years. Tony was noble, compassionate, and smart. It was these attributes that had caused Gibbs to push him so hard. Other agents would have broken. He looked at Tony and nodded in understanding. "Okay."

Tony let out a sarcastic laugh, "that's it?"

Gibbs nodded and punched the emergency stop button a second time. The lights flashed on and the elevator started to move. He looked over at Tony before the doors reopened, "you have an opportunity to face your demons, DiNozzo. Most of us don't get that chance." He moved forward out of the elevator, leaving Tony to decide his next move.

* * *

_Phoof_

**Authors Note: **Thank you so much for all the reviews, I'm glad there is such a positive response to this. I have not written anything longer than a one-shot in a long time, so it is a little nerve-racking. Hope you have enjoyed it so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **3

**Disclaimer: **If I owned this television show, I would not have to resort to writing fanfiction.

* * *

21:00

A few hours later, the team reassembled to share intel. The office was devoid of all usual activity; most of the staff had left for the evening. Tony, McGee, and Ziva were clustered in a circle between their desks.

"I was able to isolate the phone number from the list of received calls from Jeanne's cell phone. It was made from a prepay cell phone this morning at 0700. The phone was purchased three months ago, but the call to Jeanne is the only one on record. I have a track placed on it, so if they turn it on again… we'll know." McGee handed Tony the phone records, and Tony rolled his chair toward Gibb's desk and set them down. Gibbs was around the corner on the phone with Fornell.

"That's _if_ they didn't toss it already," Tony said as he rolled back to McGee's desk.

"Right," McGee said, taking an unusually large gulp of coffee.

"It's what I would've done," Tony said, raising his eyebrow at McGee, who was still slurping.

"I stopped by the apartment where Jeanne's daughter was kidnapped. I sent the evidence to Abby. There was not much," Ziva leaned back in her chair and sighed, "A few hairs, a bloody handprint that I assume belongs to the man Jeanne… clubbed. Since we already know who these men are, I am not sure what more we can hope to find."

"There were tire tracks outside the building, possibly some kind of SUV. Abby's doing a tread analysis," Tony said.

"Only one neighbor claimed to have seen an unfamiliar vehicle outside the building at the time of the kidnapping. The woman…" Ziva flipped through her notepad, "Maude Gum—Gumbli—Blu-…." She tore out the page and handed it to Tony.

"That's Maude Gumbliblund—Gumbli…" he laughed, "wow, kudos to this lady's parents."

McGee leaned over his desk to look at the paper in Tony's hands. "Gumbliblunder. Maude Gumbliblunder."

Tony and Ziva looked at him quizzically. McGee shrugged, "it was my Grandmother's maiden name."

The three agents stopped talking when they heard Gibbs clear his throat. He tossed his phone onto the desk. "Anytime now, Ziva."

She grabbed the page back from Tony. "The neighbor verified that the vehicle was a black SUV, tinted windows, and large tires."

Tony shook his head, "large tires?"

"I am just telling you what she said," Ziva replied.

"Women."

"Not everyone can identify the make and model of a vehicle from ten stories up, Tony," she argued.

McGee held up his finger, "I just got a hit on the traffic cam. Looks like a black SUV pulled up in front of the building at 03:00… and pulled away at 03:10 with the girl."

"License plate?" Gibbs asked.

McGee squinted at the screen and hit a couple keys. He sighed, "Can't see it, Boss. I'll send it down to Abby."

"Can you see the man's face?" Ziva asked, wheeling around the desk to see the monitor.

McGee enlarged the man's face. "No, his ball cap is pulled down too low."

"Send it To Abby, McGee." Gibbs leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head.

"Is Tobias letting us use the FBI safe-house, Boss?" Tony asked. His eyes shifted towards Gibb's momentarily.

"Yep."

"Are we rotating in groups?" McGee asked, rolling toward his desk to toss his empty cup in the trash.

"Only at night," Gibbs replied. He shut his computer off and closed the open files on his desk.

"The FBI is taking the day shift?" Tony said, raising an eyebrow.

Gibbs nodded and threw the stack of files into the filing cabinet.

"What are we going to do while they are watching…?" Ziva trailed off before saying Jeanne's name.

"Find her daughter," Gibbs replied. He grabbed his gun out of his desk drawer and shoved it onto his belt.

"And the weapon blueprint," Ziva said, tapping her pencil against her temple.

Gibbs pulled his jacket off the back of his chair, "That too."

"We don't even know what we're looking for, Boss," McGee said, rolling back toward his desk to shut off his computer. "Vance called it a blueprint, but Henri Lefevre asked Jeanne where the weapon was…. Those objects are two very different things,"

"With two very different sets of problems," Tony added.

Gibbs nodded, "Whatever it is, we'll find it."

The three agents began packing up. Tony grabbed his backpack and jacket and followed his boss toward the elevator. It had been one of the longest days of his life.

"We'll meet at the safe-house in thirty minutes," Gibbs said as he hit the elevator button. "I want earpieces on at all times, no one leaves the house for _any_ reason—and no clubbing… or morning yoga." He gave Tony a pointed look.

Tony flinched, "Right, boss."

* * *

22:00

Tony tossed his overnight bag into the trunk of McGee's car and climbed into the passenger seat. Ziva had graciously volunteered to sit in the back, although it probably had more to do with avoiding an argument than anything else.

McGee sighed and clapped Tony's shoulder, "you ready?"

Tony snorted, "Ready as a pig being marched to the slaughter house."

"Pigs do not march, Tony," said Ziva matter-of-factly.

"No, they get dragged through the pig pen by their ankles, squealing in protest" he said.

As they pulled away from the curb, Tony sighed and rested his head against the headrest. He had accepted the fact that he had no control over the next few hours. Jeanne's three year absence from his life made it difficult to predict how she would react to him over the next twelve hours.

Fifteen minutes later, McGee turned onto the street Gibbs had paged to them and Tony's stomach began twisting into knots.

"There it is," Ziva said, pointing to a house at the end of the dark street.

McGee pulled into the driveway and shut the car off. The house was small, white, with no discernable markings that would set it apart from other homes on the street. As Tony got out of the car, he noted two hidden cameras near the front door and one on every corner of the front porch. The windows would probably look normal to the untrained eye, but they were all reinforced with bullet-proof glass. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and moved into the garage where Ziva and McGee were waiting. McGee dug the earpieces out of the equipment bag and checked the batteries.

Tony stuck the small earpiece into his ear and pushed the button to turn it on. "Alright, let's rock and roll," he said, forcing himself to sound upbeat. He took a deep breath and followed McGee through the door and into the darkened dining room.

Gibbs and Fornell were sitting at the table, arms crossed, having a quiet conversation. Tony nodded a greeting and tossed his bag into a corner. The kitchen was small and the walls were covered with putrid green wallpaper. A dimly lit hallway lead to what he assumed was the rest of the downstairs living space.

Fornell interrupted his thoughts, "I'll bet this is awkward for you, DiNozzo. How long has it been since she accused you of murder?"

Tony rolled his eyes and shrugged his jacket off. "About as long as your last marriage lasted, Fornell," he shot back.

"Touchy," he retorted. He shook Gibbs' hand and grabbed his trench coat. "We'll be back in the morning." Stepping into the hallway, he called to the other FBI agents. Tony heard rustling noises in the living room and saluted as the two men trudged past him toward the garage door. Fornell turned and clapped Tony on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Silence filled the room after the door shut behind the three men.

Gibbs leaned forward on his elbows and linked his fingers together. "Bunk room is upstairs. Two people awake at all times." He locked eyes with Tony, "you want a minute?"

"She awake?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Gibbs nodded and stood, "Coffee's fresh. I'll be in the surveillance room."

Tony watched him as he disappeared down the hallway and through a door to the left. He turned around to face Ziva and McGee. "I hope this place comes with a panic room," he said, loosening his tie and slipping it over his head.

"No such luck." The answer came from behind him.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a second, taking a breath. Her voice sounded calm, controlled. He opened his eyes and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Before he turned toward Jeanne, he discreetly nodded toward where Ziva and McGee were standing.

McGee cleared his throat, "We'll be upstairs." He and Ziva grabbed their overnight bags out of the pile. As they made their way down the hallway, Ziva shot Tony one last sympathetic look over her shoulder.

He ran his finger along the edge of his shoulder holster and adjusted the strap. He wondered if he should have tried to conceal his weapon. The gun at his ribcage was a solid reminder of every lie he had ever told her. When he glanced back up, their eyes met. He tried to think of something clever to say, but nothing came to mind. He looked to her for a clue as to how to proceed, but found nothing. He finally shook his head and leaned against the dining room wall.

"I don't know how to do this, Jeanne," he admitted, fully aware that the rest of the team could hear his every word through the earpiece

Jeanne pulled her blue sweater tighter around her body and offered a tight smile, "I don't know that there is a good answer, Tony."

He searched her face, looking for a sign that she was still angry with him. Her eyes were red, skin pale. He only saw exhaustion. Tony thumped his head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "I know coming here wasn't easy."

"No… it wasn't."

"But, I'm glad you did." This statement surprised him; he realized that it was the truth. The initial shock of her arrival had disappeared, leaving his mind clear to consider the situation.

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "I'm not sure I share your sentiment."

He let out a sarcastic chuckle, "No, I can't imagine you would… but it's your best chance at finding your daughter."

"Leah." Jeanne walked past him into the kitchen and grabbed a mug out of the cabinet. "My daughter's name is Leah."

Tony watched as she poured herself coffee. Even without sleep, Jeanne was still striking. Images of her smiling at him, laughing, and lying naked in bed filled his head. He recalled her face the first time he had said those three… little… words. Did she know it was the only time he had ever said them to anyone? He snapped back to the present moment when he heard his name.

Jeanne was watching him curiously.

"Sorry, what?" he asked. He had to force her back out of his head.

"I said do you want coffee?" she was standing at the counter, holding the pot.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He wondered if she had spit in it. Probably not, he decided.

She carried the steaming mug over to where he stood. As she handed it off, their hands touched. Electricity shot up his arm. He realized he was holding his breath. He kept his eyes focused on the coffee mug he was holding. If he looked at her, she would see right through him.

"Don't worry… I didn't spit in it," she said, smirking. Jeanne turned toward away from him and started down the hall.

He let out a short laugh, "I never thought-," he stopped when she glanced at him over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Okay, it may have crossed my mind." He took a sip of it and followed her into the living room. She sat down on the sofa and rested her head on her knees. Tony sank into an arm chair and leaned forward, rotating the coffee in his hands.

"You look… different than I remember," she noted.

He raised his eyes. "Yeah?"

She furrowed her brow, looking at him closely. "Less… carefree." She paused and sighed, "But I guess I never really knew you, did I? Tony DiNardo never existed."

He thought for a moment, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Anakin Skywalker."

"What?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, "Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader were the same person." He leaned back and crossed his legs. "Two personas, one guy."

Her lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. "So, which one are you, Anthony DiNozzo; the nine-year-old boy or the ruthless murderer?" She sounded amused.

He snorted, "Never said it was a perfect comparison."

She smiled into her coffee mug and started to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps above them.

A few seconds later, McGee appeared around the corner with a sheet of paper in his hands. He walked toward Jeanne, and handed it to her.

She looked at it closely. "The top two are email addresses that my father used… but I don't recognize the rest." She handed it back to him.

"Your father rotated addresses through the years. You're sure you don't recognize the others?" He knelt down beside the couch to let her see the list again.

She ran her finger down the sheet and shook her head, "No, if they were his, he never used them to contact me."

"Good." McGee stood up and crossed the room, disappearing down the hallway.

"Good?" Jeanne asked, loud enough for McGee to hear her from the dining room.

He reappeared, lugging the mobile computer. "Good." He affirmed. He set the bag down on a desk in the corner, and unzipped the case. "If he never emailed you from the rest of the addresses, we can assume that they were used for business purposes. And if he used them to buy and sell illegal merchandise, we can find out if he did, in fact, buy the navy blueprint before he died."

"Would the accounts still be active after three years?" she asked, rising from the couch and moving to stand behind him.

Tony stood up and joined them at the makeshift computer station. He watched as McGee furiously punched numbers into the keyboard.

"It doesn't matter," he explained as he opened his hacking program, "Even if he deleted them, I can still access his personal files."

"How?" she asked.

McGee stopped typing for a moment, turning his head to look at her. "Not important."

She raised her eyebrows.

Tony shot her a smile, "What he is trying to say is that hacking into someone's email account…"

"accounts," McGee corrected.

"Fine, hacking into someone's email _accounts_ is highly illegal; and if someone was going to do it, they would need a search warrant." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "But that could take hours."

"My daughter doesn't have hours," she said firmly.

"That's what McGee is here for," Tony said, clapping his partner on the shoulder.

She nodded, turning back toward the computer screen. They stood, watching him work in silence. Tony watched as the program began searching for results.

"How long?" he asked.

"Over an hour… depends how many emails were linked to the accounts and how strong his passwords were. My guess is that given his profession, he had fairly good security."

Tony was about to respond, when suddenly, a loud noise pierced his right eardrum. His hand shot to his earpiece, pulling it from his ear.

When Tony looked back up, he saw that McGee was rubbing his temples, "What _was_ that?"

Tony shoved the small device back into his ear after turning the volume down. The surveillance room door opened, and Gibbs leaned into the hallway with a questioning look on his face.

The noise began again, quieter this time. He recognized it the second time. "Where's Ziva?" he asked.

McGee pointed up the stairs, "I told her to lie down for an hour while I was performing the search."

Tony nodded and suppressed a smile, "That's what I thought." He would recognize that snore anywhere.

Gibbs gave them an irritated look. "Take care of it, DiNozzo," he ordered, before disappearing again.

"Why me?" he asked.

McGee grinned at him, "Sorry, Tony. I'm a little busy here." He turned back to the computer screen.

"It searches itself, McGee." He unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

McGee chuckled, "no way."

Jeanne looked from one agent to the other, "I don't understand," she said.

"Ziva snores," McGee stated, smirking at Tony.

"Loudly," Tony said, as another snore ripped through his eardrums.

"DINOZZO!" shouted Gibbs from the other room.

"Taking care of it, Boss!" he called back.

"Why…?" Jeanne trailed off.

McGee was still grinning. "Ziva's a trained assassin."

Tony adjusted his holster, running his hand over the smooth barrel of his weapon and loosening it. "Have you ever seen Kill Bill?" he asked Jeanne.

She looked at him and nodded slowly, "With you."

Tony had forgotten. He had forced her to sit through both volumes. She had laughed at the way blood erupted out of people, comparing it to lava from a volcano. He had told her that he loved that she wasn't disgusted by the gore. _Tony, blood doesn't shoot out of people like that!_ She had said. He had feigned innocence, claiming to have never seen anyone die. He looked back at her and wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

"Would _you_ want to wake up a sleeping Uma Thurman?" McGee asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

She shook her head, "No, probably not."

"Exactly," he replied. "Good luck, though, Tony."

Tony shot him a nasty look and moved toward the stairs, looking up into the darkness. "Is there a bedside table?" he asked.

"No… why?" McGee looked at him curiously.

Tony started up the stairs, "Just want to know where her gun is," he answered. At the top of the stairs, he took a breath and pushed open the bunk room door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **4

**Disclaimer**: (In Haiku) I don't own the show / And all of the characters / don't belong to me

**Pre-Note: **I decided this story was missing something. I want everyone to say it together…

_Phoof._

* * *

_Thursday, _00:00

Ziva was lying in bed, facing the wall when she heard Tony push open the bunk room door. He slipped in quietly, barely making a sound. Tony very rarely performed any action without a fireworks display, so she was almost surprised when the bed dipped and he put his hand lightly on her hip.

"Fake snore," he whispered. He had shut his earpiece speaker off.

Ziva flipped the switch on her own device. "I do not snore," she argued, smiling into the pillow, "Nor do I fake snore." She turned so that she could see his face. Even in the darkness, she could see his bemused look. Tony moved so that his hand was on her other side, pinning her in place.

"You do snore," he said, "but it's louder; like a rocket launcher, or an atomic bomb, or--" His last comparison was cut off with a groan as Ziva punched him in the shoulder.

She sat up to face him as he massaged his shoulder, "I can kill you seven different ways in this room alone." She looked around, eyeing a clothes hanger lying nearby on the floor, "Make that twelve."

"Not without Gibbs hearing."

"Six of which are silent," she added, smirking at him.

He let out a quiet chuckle and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "I wonder what my father would say if he knew a girl could kick my behind into the next county."

"Further than that, probably."

He thought for a minute, "He'd probably find it sexy." Tony made a gagging noise and shook his head to clear away the image.

Ziva laughed as she imagined Tony's father. The elder Anthony DiNozzo _would _find it sexy… though she doubted he had ever met a woman that he did not consider sexy in some way. "Do you find it sexy?" she asked, looking up at him. Their faces were only a few inches apart.

Tony ran a hand through his hair and let out a short laugh, something he did when he was trying to think of something clever to say. He cleared his throat, "I've already used one Uma Thurman reference today. Speaking of which, who do you think would win in a sword fight, you or Uma?" He changed the subject.

"Her."

"Gun fight?"

Ziva rolled her eyes, "Me." She reached up and fixed his shirt collar, letting her hand graze against his neck. His body relaxed with her touch.

She could not explain the feelings she had for him. He was goofy and annoying, not the sort of person she was usually attracted to. Over the years, however, she had seen a softer side of Tony; one that he buried under layers of defense mechanisms. It was a part that only one other person had seen.

He reached up and weaved his fingers through her hair, rubbing his thumb lightly over her temple. He hadn't answered her question, but she did not push him. Their situation was not easy, and they were treading carefully.

McGee's voice cut through the silence, "This first address shows the last outgoing message was sent back in 2002—I think I am going to try to work from the bottom up." He was downstairs, talking to Jeanne.

"You have been up here for a few minutes… Gibbs will begin to think that I have killed you." She pulled back from him to sit cross-legged on the bed. Tony dropped his hand and leaned back on his elbows.

"You still haven't told me why you snored me up here, Special Agent Ziva" he said.

"You are assuming that I was snoring _you_, and not someone else?"

He chuckled, "You are bruising my tender ego."

She let out a sarcastic laugh, "That is not possible."

They sat for a few moments, in silence. It was difficult, sometimes, to read Tony. He looked calm, but his well controlled mask did not reach his eyes.

"You are… nervous, yes?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, "Well, if we don't solve this case, I won't be able to watch the _Godfather_ trilogy on NBC this weekend."

"I see." He paused, then added, "It's like being in the middle of a Cold War… reminds me of _Seven Days in May—_exceptI'm not the President. And I'm waiting for a sneak attack from one person… not the entire Soviet Union."

"But you sense that a sneak attack is coming?"

"My gut says yes." He sat up and stretched, rolling his shoulders back and forth. "Put on your game face, Ziva. We've got work to do."

She reached out and gently grabbed a tuft of his hair, turning his face toward her. "Perhaps you should try to be the fatter person, Tony. No one wins a Cold War."

He snorted, "The bigger person… not fatter. I'm not even sure if "fatter" is a word." He stood up and switched his earpiece speaker back on. "You getting up, rocket launcher?" he asked.

She nodded, "I will be down in a few minutes. McGee will need to get some rest." She paused. "So will you, Tony. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

He nodded, "I'm going to try and go through the business records that Jeanne had shipped from France. I'll sleep when this is over."

Ziva thought she heard a board creak somewhere outside the bunk room. The door was open a crack, but the hall looked empty. Through the earpiece, McGee could be heard mumbling something inaudible; computer keys were still clicking in the background. She looked back to Tony, "Back to the Soviet Union, then?"

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. "I may prove to be the fatter person yet," he whispered into her hair. Before walking out the door, he turned toward her, "Oh, and Ziva?"

She raised her eyebrows.

He waited a few seconds, "I find it very sexy."

She hid a smile as he slipped through the door.

* * *

Jeanne pulled her hair into a ponytail and splashed water on her face. In the mirror, her face looked tired; dark circles were visible under her eyes. Grabbing a towel, she dabbed her face and walked back into her temporary bedroom. She stopped at the picture of Leah that she had taped to the headboard. Her dark brown ringlets framed her small face, and she was wearing a blue dress with daisies across the bottom. Jeanne ran her finger across her daughter's face before grabbing the large box of her father's files and pulling the door open with her toes.

"_Oh, and Ziva?"_

Jeanne heard Tony's hushed tone coming from somewhere down the hallway. She shifted the heavy box in her arms and turned toward the staircase. She had thought her anger toward him had diminished over the past few years. Her time in South Africa working for Doctors without Borders helped her realize how trivial her problems were. Being in D.C. and seeing Tony, however, opened fresh wounds.

"_I find it very sexy."_

Her first thought was that the statement sounded too serious to be a joke. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember that she had never known Anthony DiNozzo. The man she had loved never really existed. Jeanne's thoughts were interrupted when Tony rounded the corner, almost knocking into her. She caught herself, but the box tipped forward, propelled by its own weight. She felt her face flush as he caught it before it fell.

He hoisted it up into his arms by his knee. "Sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't…"

"No," she said, forcing a smile, "I was… walking too fast." They stood in silence, looking at one another.

Seconds later, Ziva appeared behind Tony. Jeanne tried to remain expressionless, pretending that she had not overheard any part of their conversation.

Ziva smiled at her and leaned down to grab something off the floor. She held it out to Jeanne. "Is this your daughter?" she asked.

Jeanne took her photo back and cleared her throat, "Yes."

"She is beautiful. How old?"

Jeanne looked at the picture, feeling her eyes begin to water. She would not start to cry, not here, in front of Tony. "Two and a half," she whispered hoarsely.

Tony peered at the photo from over the box, his brow furrowed. After a second, he glanced back up at Jeanne, his expression different. The three of them stood at the top of the stairs for a few seconds before Tony spoke again.

"Ziva, will you take this?" he nodded his head toward the box in his hands, "I'll be down in a few minutes." He handed it over, and she took it from him easily, giving him a knowing look before turning to descend the stairs. He turned back to Jeanne. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She nodded, turning toward the bedroom, Tony at her heels.

* * *

Gibbs was sitting in the surveillance room, watching Abby from the video phone. She was scuttling back and forth in her lab, talking all the while.

"I tested the mud from the bottom of Henri Lefèvre's shoe; the hospital sent his personal belongings over this morning. I found all the usual stuff—dirt, pebbles, grass…." She disappeared from view for a minute, returning with a printout. _"But_, Colonel Mass-Spec found a _Catellicoccus marimammalium _PCR assay, which is specific to the genus Larus atricilla." She smiled, holding the sheet of paper up for him to see.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, "English, Abbs."

"Oh, right. It's seagull poop, Gibbs."

"Seagull poop?" he asked.

"Yup. Our friend, Henri, had been walking near the beach sometime before kidnapping Jeanne's daughter. Oh, speaking of which! How's Tony doing? Have they duked it out yet?"

Gibbs ignored her question. "That narrows it down to over a hundred miles of coastline," he said.

"Actually, the Laughing Gull is only found in a few areas of D.C. Mostly near garbage barges and public beaches," she corrected.

"Fifty miles, then," he added. "That all?"

"Gibbs, I wouldn't call you to chat about bird poop!" she attested. "I was able to nab the SUV's license plate number off the street camera. We are looking for a 2004 Ford Expedition, license plate: Alpha, Victor, Zulu, 498."

"Good job, Abbs. I'll have McGee put a bolo out. Now, go home!" He shut off the video phone before she could protest. McGee appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, having heard him over the communication system. Gibbs handed him the license plate number and vehicle description. McGee sat down at the desk and dialed the number for the Metro Police Department. Gibbs turned the volume back up on his earpiece, catching Tony midsentence, speaking in a clipped tone.

_"I'm going to ask you one more time. Would. You. Tell. Me?"_

Gibbs had a fairly good guess as to what Tony and Jeanne were discussing. He sighed and looked at his watch; only midnight-thirty. He pulled out _Wooden Boat_ magazine and started to flip through it.

A minute later, McGee hung up the phone. "Bolo's out." He spun his chair towards Gibbs, dropping a pile of papers next to him. "I went through René Benoît's email accounts. I found an email, dated six months before he died, that mentions a future weapons trade near Norfolk. Two weeks later, a six-figure withdrawal was made from his business account."

Gibbs glanced at the messages as McGee spoke, trying to tune out Tony's conversation with Jeanne. He mentally scolded Jenny—her obsession with La Grenouille had caused an unstoppable chain of events.

"_That's not what you told the F.B.I. when you accused me of murder." Tony's disgust was audible._

Gibbs turned the volume down a notch, not wishing to eavesdrop. McGee had obviously heard it too; he cringed. "I never thought I would feel bad for Tony," he commented.

Gibbs folded his arms, "After the withdrawal, McGee…?"

"Right… there's a message between him and Trent Kort, discussing his plans for the purchase. No specifics. After that, the messages switch to other topics… a guy in Mexico bought forty-five assault rifles, Grenouille purchased a satellite…." McGee flipped through the stack of papers.

"A satellite?" Gibbs asked. He wasn't sure what an internationally renowned arms dealer would want with a satellite, but his gut said it wasn't good.

"Yeah… I don't know what he would want with it, but I know someone who might."

Gibbs sighed, "Trent Kort." The man was a constant thorn in his side.

"Another thing… six weeks later, he sent an email to Bruno Benoît. The message is in French, so I'll have to have Jeanne or Ziva translate it.

"_No, getting to my father was your _job_. Screwing me was just an added perk," _Jeanne's harsh statement was easily picked up by Tony's microphone. Gibbs turned the volume down three more notches. If they got any louder, he wouldn't need the earpiece to hear their conversation.

McGee flinched, "Probably a better idea to ask Ziva. Anyway, from the few words I was able to pick out, it sounds like they were trading services."

Gibbs intertwined his fingers and leaned forward, thinking. "Trading services for _what_?" he mumbled.

McGee shook his head, "All I know, is that this is bigger than we thought."

* * *

"Would you tell me if she were mine?" He posed the question to Jeanne's back after shutting the door to her room.

She turned around slowly, staring back at him, without answering.

He moved closer, jaw set. "Jeanne?" He stood directly in front of her now.

She shook her head, defeated. "I don't know," she whispered. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Tony let out a harsh laugh. "You don't know?"

She shook her head. "No." Another tear fell. "I was so angry, Tony. I would like to think that I would have, but … I can't give you an answer."

"Would you tell me now?" His anger was threatening to break through to the surface.

She wiped the tears away with her sleeve, and looked up at him. "She's mine, Tony." Her voice was fierce.

"For being adopted, she looks a lot like you," he said, pulling the photo out of her hand and holding it up. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Would. You. Tell. Me?" His voice sounded cold as emphasized every word, determined to get an answer out of her.

She grabbed it back from him. "When I said I wished I had never met you, I meant it. So to answer your question… I. don't. know," she mimicked the tone of his last question. They stood toe-to-toe, glaring at one another.

Tony wanted answers, but pushing her forward was going nowhere. He decided to change tactics. He backed off, hoping it would drive her anger up a notch or two. "Let me know if you figure it out, Jeanne." His voice was acid. He turned toward the door, but Jeanne broke before his hand hit the knob.

"You spent _nine_ months lying to me, Tony!" She shouted, crossing the room in a few steps. "You slept with me! You told me you loved me!" She looked at him in disgust, tears were now pouring from her eyes. "And then, after everything that happened, I lost my father too." She pointed her finger at him, thumping him in the chest. "Don't you _dare_ turn me into the bad guy."

He glared back at her, his voice louder than before. "I didn't kill him. You know that."

"Not directly," she spat.

"That's not what you told the F.B.I. when you accused me of murder," he sneered.

Her face had turned bright red, "You may not have pulled the trigger, but you started the chain of events that _lead_ to his death." She didn't blink, didn't look away.

"No, _he_ started the chain of events that lead to his death when he joined the illegal arms trade. It was my job--," he started to say.

Her voice was now loud enough to rouse the neighborhood, "You're right. Getting to my father was your _job_. Screwing me was just an added perk."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, trying to shut out the memories that were flooding through his head. _"Are you attracted to her?" Jenny Shepard's voice rang in his ears. "So, what's the problem?"_ _Jeanne sitting next to him on the couch, years back, "Yes, sex. Is that something you're interested in?"_

"You have no idea… what it was like," he said. His voice quivered, his anger was starting to lose momentum. Her last words hit close to home.

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, "I imagined it _every day_ for a year afterward—how many other girls were you sleeping with while pretending to be boyfriend-of-the-year?"

He felt as though he had been stabbed. Did she really believe that he could do that? He looked into her eyes, watched the sobs rake through her body. "Jeanne… I could never have--."

"What? Lied to me? Cheated on me? Is it even cheating if the relationship isn't real?" She turned and walked a few steps away from him. He heard her exhale. He was amazed at how easily she believed that their whole relationship had been a lie. Admitting that he had loved her was out of the question. Tony was sure that she would never believe him.

"_Cruel Intentions_." It was the first thing that popped into his head.

She turned back around and looked at him incredulously, shaking her head, "What?"

"Have you ever seen it?"

She blinked. "Are you comparing this to a _movie_?"

"Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillipe… got really bad reviews. He's a jackass that wants to steal her virginity to prove that he can—."

"So you're admitting you're a jackass?" She was facing him again, eyebrows raised.

He held up a finger, "The point is: I never was out to screw you… or my step-sister, which made the movie a little weird."

She snorted, "Tony, you don't have a sis--." She stopped herself and looked at him.

Every last shred of fury left his body in that instant. She really believed that Tony DiNardo and Anthony DiNozzo were two different people. She couldn't believe anything that he had ever told her about himself. It was time to end the lies.

"No, I don't have a sister," he said softly. "Watch the movie, Jeanne." He turned, and opened the bedroom door.

"I adopted her from South Africa two years ago, Tony. And… I can't speak for then, but I would tell you now." She stood in the center of the room with tearstained cheeks, giving him a sad smile.

He nodded. "Get some rest, Jeanne." He let himself out of the bedroom and quietly shut the door. As odd as it was, he actually felt better. Perhaps Ziva had been right about the benefits of a real war.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs voice was a sudden reminder that he hadn't turned off the speaker. He mentally kicked himself.

"Yeah, Boss?" he replied, leaning against the wall and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You done?"

He looked up at the ceiling, wondering how many head slaps the conversation with Jeanne had cost him. "Yeah, Boss."

"Well, get down here. We found something."

_fin_

* * *

**Authors Note: **Thanks to my beta, Bad Shot, for helping me pull the most out of this angst-ridden chapter. I appreciate all the support; if you are enjoying the story, I would love to hear your thoughts! Remember: Sharing is caring, after all.

Stay tuned…


	5. Chapter 5

**Story: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **5

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **Okay everyone, here we are again. Please take note that I am aware that some people hate Jeanne. Unfortunately, I can't really edit her out of this story as she plays a fairly big role. I loved all the reviews, thanks so much for staying with me.

And, big thank you to my beta, Bad Shot

_Phoof._

* * *

Thursday, 00:30

Ziva took the heavy box from Tony and forced a small smile before continuing down the hallway and descending the stairs. She heard the door to Jeanne's room click. Entering the living room, she dropped the box loudly on the floor next to McGee, startling him.

McGee spun his chair around to face her, "Gibbs isn't going to be happy when he finds out you killed Tony."

Ziva smiled, "Perhaps he would understand?"

_"Would you tell me if she were mine?"_ Tony's voice was harsh over the earpiece, demanding an answer.

Ziva sighed. He had forgotten to turn off his speaker. Although this would make eavesdropping easy, she hadn't yet decided if she even wanted to listen.

"Ziva?" McGee was looking at her expectantly.

She had no idea what he had asked. Attempting to hide her momentary lapse in concentration, she changed the subject quickly, "If anyone needs me, I will be in the dining room sorting through this box," she bumped it with her foot.

McGee turned toward the computer and scribbled something onto a sheet of paper. He handed it to her after ripping it from the pad. "I think whatever we're looking for will fall in between those dates."

Ziva nodded, committing the date range to memory. She opened her mouth to ask McGee something, but was cut off by Tony. He had repeated the same question, more forcibly this time.

McGee flinched at the sound of Tony's voice. He covered the speaker with his finger, "Do you think she's lying about the kid?" he asked.

Ziva sighed and lifted the box off the floor. She thought about Jeanne's reaction when Tony saw the photo. She had not appeared nervous, even after Tony asked to speak to her privately. Still, the girl was the right age. Ziva shrugged, "She does not act untruthful." She turned and started down the connecting hallway.

"Ziva?" McGee was watching her from the desk, brow furrowed.

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

He opened his mouth, and then shut it. "Nothing. Nevermind." Whatever he was about to say, he had thought better of it.

She turned and walked around the corner toward the dining room. As she began sifting through the contents of the files, she thought about the last few months.

_Paris._

_It was midnight. She stood on the terrace, wrapped in a blanket, the cool night breathing softly around her. They had been in France for less than six hours; enough time to grab dinner and surrender to jet lag. Except sleep was not something she had been getting much of lately. She wrapped the blanket tightly around her shoulders and leaned against the railing, eyes on the dark horizon._

_Tony stepped onto the terrace quietly. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, goose bumps were visible on his arms. "Ziva?" he said softly._

"_Did I wake you?" she asked. "I tried to be silent."_

"_You stopped snoring." He moved to stand next to her and rubbed his arms. "The city will still be here in the morning, you know."_

_She smiled._

"_It was the bed, wasn't it? Too soft for you, Goldilocks?" he continued, looking toward the Paris skyline. "I would be happy to give up the couch if you insisted…"_

"_I could not sleep," she interrupted._

_He nodded. "Somalia?"_

_She glanced up at him briefly. "I could not sleep there either."_

_He turned toward her, "Why don't we 'not sleep' somewhere warmer. It's freezing out here." He crossed his arms and noticeably shivered._

_She snorted and held part of her blanket out, expecting him to quickly refuse. Instead, he grabbed the edge and wrapped it around his shoulders. His cold skin touched hers, "You've been out here for thirty seconds—how is it that you are so cold?"she asked, amused._

_He shrugged, "Maybe my internal thermometer has jet lag." He maneuvered himself under the blanket so they were facing. "You know, in boy scouts, we learned that the best way to get warm--," he started._

_She elbowed him in the stomach, "Do not finish that sentence, DiNozzo. You were never even in the boy scouts."_

"_Have it your way," he said, rubbing his stomach, "We'll stay clothed."_

_She pursed her lips, attempting to hide a smile, "Agreed." _

_Neither one spoke for a long time; they stood on the terrace in silence, wrapped in the wool blanket. Their relationship had always been defined by the unsaid—one night in Paris would not change five years of emotional avoidance. Something was altered, however. An unspoken understanding was reached, an acknowledgement of feelings that had previously been off-limits. _

_His skin warmed up after a few minutes. She built up the courage to nudge his arms around her. He began to run his fingers softly through her hair. _

_Paris marked the end of deniability. _

She was halfway through the box, having separated the contents into piles by date and relevance. Through her earpiece, she noted that Tony's voice had lost the angry edge. He sounded sad. In a way, his relationship with Jeanne had stalled him. Ziva doubted that he ever went a day without thinking about her. She was the one thing he did not see coming, and part of him, whether he would admit it or not, disappeared with her.

She expected to feel jealous rage toward the woman, and was surprised when it never happened. Not that she was about to invite her to stay.

Gibbs's voice suddenly penetrated her eardrum. She looked at her watch, 01:05. She had been sorting for over a half-hour. Picking up the large stack of files, she hit the light switch with her elbow and moved toward the living room to meet with the rest of the team.

* * *

01:05

McGee glanced at Tony as he shuffled down the stairs. He collapsed on the opposite end of the couch and leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing his temples.

"What d'we got?" he asked.

McGee tossed him the file folder. "Six months before La Grenouille died, he made a couple odd purchases, all within the same three week period. The amount he spent in that time frame totaled about $27,000,000."

"And you believe this is the stolen naval weapon?" Ziva asked, moving into the living area.

"It makes sense," McGee answered, watching her set a huge stack of files down on the coffee table. "Right time, large amount of money, and this…." He leaned forward and handed her the email messages, written in French. "I found three emails, written to Bruno Benoît, discussing some sort of exchange of services. I can only pick out a few words."

Ziva took the papers and plopped down in an arm chair, eyes scanning the first page. "Grenouille is promising fifteen percent of the profit from a recent deal to Benoît in return for a job," she said, running her finger along the lines, concentrating.

"What job?" Gibbs asked, leaning forward in his chair, tapping his fingers against his chin.

Ziva paused, studying the words. "I am not sure. It must have been something they had previously discussed." She switched to the next sheet. "Bruno responds that it will take some time to complete… he will need the agreement in writing first."

Tony sat back and crossed his legs. "What would La Grenouille need so badly, that he would pay someone to do for him?"

McGee pondered Tony's question carefully. He was sure the arms dealer had endless connections all over the world. Why would he pay for something that he could manipulate for free? "Well, at least we know someone who may be able to answer that question for us."

Tony sighed as he lifted the top sheet out of the file. "Trent Kort. Really? We will never be rid of that dirt bag."

Ziva held up a finger, "In the last letter, Bruno Benoît says that he will mail the documents when the job is completed. That explains why you were unable to find further emails between the two. Bruno did not trust that the transaction could remain a secret."

"So, find the letter… and no Trent Kort?" Tony asked hopefully.

Gibbs shook his head, "Find the letter _and _Trent Kort, DiNozzo."

Tony sighed and sank back into the sofa, "Sounds like a great time," he said sarcastically, "In fact, this day couldn't _get_ more fun."

"The day has only just begun, Tony," Ziva reminded him, shooting him an innocent smile.

McGee changed the subject before Gibbs head-slapped someone. "So, we can assume that Grenouille bought the stolen weapon blueprint and planned to resell it,"

"But, did he get the chance to complete the deal before he was killed?" Ziva asked.

"That's what we need to find out," McGee replied. "If he sold it, we may never locate it."

"Not an option," Gibbs said.

"Right, boss." He wondered if the word "fail" was even in Gibbs's internal dictionary.

"DiNozzo, McGee—get some rest."

"Boss, I don't need to--," Tony began to protest.

"Tony, I'm not asking," he said firmly.

McGee stood up stretched before clapping Tony on the back and pulling him up by the shirt collar. He looked like hell. "At this pace, you aren't going to survive tomorrow, Tony."

"You know, if this was an episode of 24, we'd only have… eight hours left," he quipped, glancing at his watch.

"Thank goodness we work for the government, then," McGee replied, pushing his partner toward the stairs. "Nothing moves slower."

Tony snorted and shuffled up the steps.

* * *

01:45

Gibbs tapped his fingers on the table lightly, thinking. La Grenouille offered someone fifteen percent of the profit from a purchased weapon to do a job for him. Why?

He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. What would be worth millions of dollars to an international arms dealer?

An image of Kelly, laughing, immediately flashed through his mind. _Of course_, he thought, _he would do anything to protect his only daughter. The trade must have had something to do with Jeanne._

02:15

Tony was lying on his side, listening to McGee breathe quietly. He tried to think of another job where you could memorize the sleeping habits of everyone you worked with. It was easier to fall asleep with McGee as a roommate. Ziva snored and with Gibbs, he was always worried about being woken up with a head slap.

03:00

Ziva sat, head resting on her elbow, translating the twentieth useless business record into English. Her eyes sagged, and her head throbbed. Next to her, Gibbs sipped coffee and continuously paged through bank records. She was amazed at how awake he appeared. Did the man ever sleep?

04:00

Abby had woken up early. Caf-Pow in hand, she switched on the lights in her lab and greeted the machines good-morning.

"Alright everyone, listen up!" She said as she pulled on her lab coat, "Mission: Get Tony's ex-girlfriend to leave so that life can go back to normal has commenced. I expect your full cooperation." She flipped on the cd player, music blasting through the silence. "Let's get to work."

05:00

McGee stared into his coffee mug, watching the sugar crystals disappear into the muddy brown liquid. Upstairs, the shower started. Tony was awake. He booted up the computer and dropped another spoonful of sugar into the mug, preparing himself for another long day.

06:00

Jeanne opened her eyes slowly. She had been dreaming about the trip she and Leah had taken to the zoo a week ago. The kangaroos had been her favorite—she had spent the rest of the afternoon hopping from exhibit to exhibit.

The reality of the situation took a minute to sink in. It was amazing how dreams could make you forget what was happening in real life. She rolled over and sobbed into her pillow.

* * *

07:00

Ziva looked down at the open package in her lap. It had been buried in the bottom of the box, patiently waiting to be discovered. There was a short letter, and a stack of about fifty photos. It was postmarked one month before Rene Benoît had been killed. She looked up at McGee, sitting across from her at the dining room table.

"I found it," she said quietly.

McGee glanced at her over the computer screen.

Gibbs entered the room with fresh coffee in hand, "found what?"

Ziva handed McGee the letter that was attached to the envelope and set the photos on the table. "He paid Bruno to spy on Jeanne. It is probably how Tony's cover was blown."

She heard a small gasp, and did not have to turn around to know who it was.

Jeanne's eyes were wide as she moved toward the table, staring at the top photo. It was a picture—taken through her bedroom window from a distance—of Tony and her in bed. She picked it up off the table. "My father was… _spying_ on us?"

Ziva nodded. "It appears that way, yes." The next picture in the stack was more graphic than the first.

Jeanne ran a hand through her hair, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She looked down at the next photo and shook her head incredulously. "_Why_?" she breathed.

Ziva grabbed the stack off the table and handed them to her. It was probably better if she went through them before anyone else did. "We think that he was performing a background check on Tony."

McGee set the letter down on the table. "He paid your cousin, Bruno, to follow the two of you and find out if Tony was the person you thought he was."

Gibbs crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. He spoke softly, "Your father was worried about your safety. He didn't want you to get hurt because of who _he_ was."

Jeanne said nothing. She flipped to the next photo, and the tears finally began to spill over. She threw the stack down onto the table, where they scattered. She covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

Ziva looked at the pile; it told the story of their short life together. She felt a lump rise into her throat. She tried to push away the feelings that were suddenly bubbling to the surface. In front of her were five dozen reminders that Tony had truly been in love with Jeanne.

"How could he do this?" Jeanne whispered, shaking her head. She spun around to leave the room, and almost ran headfirst into Tony, who had appeared in the doorway. He looked at the photos on the table, and then at her face. Understanding flashed through his eyes. "Come here," he said, softly, opening up his arms to her. Jeanne collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably into his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, his face emotionless as he looked at the intimate moments exposed on the table. "It's gonna be over soon," he said as her body shook in his arms.

Ziva had never seen him respond so tenderly toward another human being. She kept her expression neutral as she watched him stroke her hair soothingly. She swallowed past the lump, forcing down the jealous feelings that were rising into her throat like bile. Tony looked at her momentarily with apologetic eyes.

"It's like a nightmare that I can't wake up from." Jeanne said after she regained control. She took the tissue that Gibbs handed her and pulled away from Tony. "Everything I've learned about my father contradicts what I thought I knew."

Ziva looked down. This was a feeling she knew all too well. Jealousy and empathy were at war inside her.

Jeanne blew her nose and turned to face the team. "I'm sorry…."

Gibbs shook his head and turned to grab another Kleenex. "Don't apologize," he said, handing it to her. "It's a sign of weakness."

She chuckled and wiped away a fresh tear, "No, I think sobbing into your ex-boyfriend's shirt until he looks like he jumped into a swimming pool is a sign of weakness."

Tony looked down at his wrinkled, sopping shoulder. "Could be worse," he said. "You could have blown your nose on it."

"Thought about it," she replied, smiling. "I'm going to go upstairs… unless you need anything from me."

Gibbs sat back down at the table. "They'll be calling soon about the transaction. We'll need you then."

She nodded before disappearing down the hallway.

Tony peeled off his button down shirt. Her tears had soaked through to his white undershirt. He pulled a chair out and sat down at the table with the rest of the team, scanning the scattered photos.

"Well," he said, "Welcome to my sex life." He picked up a picture and squinted at it carefully. "My butt looks big from this angle… he should've shot from the other window."

Ziva rolled her eyes and grabbed the picture out of his hands, "Your butt," she said pointedly, "looks big from every angle."

McGee snorted.

Gibbs glared at the three agents.

Tony cleared his throat and leaned forward, "So, obviously Bruno fulfilled his end of the bargain. He delivered these to Jeanne's father." He grimaced at the picture closest to him, and added, "No wonder he didn't like me."

Ziva rolled her eyes and looked at the envelope, running her finger along the seal. "He obviously received it before he died, because it was opened and Tony's cover was blown."

"As was my car," Tony added.

"Focus, DiNozzo."

"Right, boss." He tapped his fingers on his chin and eyed the photos. "La Grenouille must have died before he could pay up."

Gibbs phone rang and he left the table.

"Why does Bruno want it now?" McGee asked. He shut the laptop in front of him. "Why over three years later?"

Ziva thought about it for a second. "Perhaps he has run out of places to look?"

McGee took a long sip of his coffee. "It doesn't make any sense… shouldn't the person who took over Grenouille's place in the arms trade have held up his end of the bargain?"

Tony laughed, "These are _criminals_, McHonesty."

Ziva shook her head, disagreeing with Tony. "Just because they are criminals does not mean they are dishonest, Tony. Whoever took La Grenouille's place would have wanted to maintain good relations with all previous contacts… especially if they were relatives."

McGee smirked at Tony.

"Well if he _did_ get the weapons system, why would he still be looking for it, Agent David?" Tony asked, eyebrows raised.

Ziva was about to enter her own snooty response when Gibbs walked back into the room. "We're going to find out," he said. "Grab your gear… we're going to the FBI headquarters."

"What about Jeanne?" McGee asked.

Gibbs turned and looked at them blankly. "Bring her." He said matter of fact, an irritated note to his voice. He opened the kitchen door and walked through it without another word.

Tony sighed and scratched his head. "I'm going to change my shirt. I'll meet you out there in a minute." He stood and walked quickly out of the room.

"You want me to get Jeanne?" McGee asked, looking at Ziva.

She pursed her lips and avoided his gaze. He was trying to find out if she was bothered by the situation. "No," she said with a smile, "I'll go."

He looked like he was about to object, but shut his mouth instead.

* * *

I heart reviews. See you next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **6

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1

**Note: **Wow, over one-hundred story alerts! It's exciting and nerve racking—I hope that I can live up to everyone's expectations! Just a quick note, this chapter is packed full of information. I have to allow them to do their jobs _sometimes_!

HUGE thanks to my beta—I really appreciate the suggestions and critiques. Hope everyone enjoys and feel free to leave a note. I love hearing from you.

* * *

07:30

Ziva tapped lightly on the door to Jeanne's room. Her plan was to tell her where they were going, and get out; the shorter the interaction, the better.

Jeanne opened the door, a surprised look on her face. "Agent David… did Agent Gibbs need something else?" She had makeup on and her face was blotch-free, as if she hadn't spent the last twenty-four hours sobbing uncontrollably.

"We are going to the F.B.I. Headquarters. Gibbs asked that I come get you," she said simply.

She tipped her head curiously, "Why does he need me there?"

Ziva did not have an answer. "Sometimes, it is better not to ask Gibbs why he does things."

Jeanne gave her a small smile. "If I have learned anything in the past few years, it's not to ask questions I don't want the answers to." She grabbed a jacket off a hook by the door and put it on.

Ziva studied her for a moment. The exhaustion had been replaced with a new fierceness. It was as if she had reached the end of her rope and decided she didn't need a rope anyway. She looked back down at her feet. "Jeanne… sometimes our fathers do not turn out to be the people we thought they were."

"No, sometimes they turn out to be International Arms Dealers that put their family member's lives at risk even _after_ they're dead," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ziva raised her chin, looking the other woman in the eyes. "Or sometimes they turn out to be corrupt government officials that send their children into the desert to be captured and left to die."

Jeanne held her gaze. "You win," she said with a small smile.

Ziva held back a smile. "I was not trying to win," she replied.

Jeanne shrugged, "Well, you win anyway. Is your father still alive?"

Ziva nodded, "The last I knew, he was."

"I take it he will never be father of the year?" she asked, moving by Ziva to the stairs.

She shook her head, "You do not know the half of it."

* * *

J. Edgar Hoover Building

08:45

Tony sat at the long Interrogation room table, eyes narrowed at the man opposite him. Trent Kort was still bald, still British, and still an asshole as far as he was concerned.

"Well isn't this a nice reunion?" Kort asked, shooting Tony a sour look. "I trust our business here will be finished in a timely manner. I have plans this afternoon."

"Cancel them." Gibbs walked through the door and dropped a heavy stack of files in front of Kort. They landed with a resounding 'crash' that echoed through the room.

"Would you like to tell me what this is about, Agent Gibbs?" he asked, tapping his fingers on the top file.

"Read," Gibbs instructed.

Kort rolled his eyes and opened the folder, scanning the first page. Tony kept a neutral expression as he watched the man leaf through the contents. Ziva, McGee, and Jeanne were on the other side of the two-way-mirror, watching the conversation.

Kort closed the file after a few minutes and intertwined his fingers on the table in front of him. "I'm assuming there is a reason I am here reading through ancient emails sent by a dead Arms Dealer?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes, "Well yeah."

Kort waited for him to elaborate, but after a few seconds of silence, he took the bait. "And what would that be, Agent Gibbs?"

"In the emails, Rene Benoît discusses a high dollar purchase that he made in Norfolk, Virginia," Tony said. He crossed his arms and stared at Kort.

Kort didn't blink an eye. "Benoît made hundreds of illegal purchases, Agent DiNozzo. He was an Arms Dealer." His impatience was beginning to show.

Gibbs moved to stand behind Tony, "Not all of them were stolen from the Navy, Kort."

Understanding flashed through his eyes. "I see," he said.

"Care to enlighten us?" Tony asked with a smirk.

"I made sure the CIA was aware of the purchase—they knew about the leak in Norfolk. I was instructed not to interfere," he said matter-of-factly.

"We are more interested in what any of it has to do with Bruno Benoît," Tony replied, reaching over and flipping to the emails between the two Frenchmen.

Kort glanced at the email messages and sighed loudly. "Three weeks before Benoît died, he made a deal with his nephew, Bruno," Kort paused and ran his finger down the message. "He paid Bruno to spy on Jeanne and DiNozzo. It's why his cover was blown—why does any of this matter to NCIS now?"

"First you answer _my_ questions," Gibbs said simply. "Did Benoît complete the transaction?"

Kort shrugged, "As far as I know."

"Not good enough," Gibbs said, raising his voice an octave and leaning over the table so that his face was inches from Kort's.

Kort didn't even bristle. "My job was over when he died. As far as I know, Bruno received his money when Grenouille received the information." He kept his eyes locked on Gibbs.

"So then _why_," Gibbs asked, "does Bruno want that blueprint so badly?

"Blueprint?" Kort asked confusion suddenly visible on his face. "Grenouille _bought_ the blueprint from a dealer in Virginia so that he could have the weapon made... the sale Bruno received money from was for the weapon itself."

Tony shot him a blank look. "What kind of weapon are we talking about?" he asked.

Kort sighed again, obviously annoyed. "It uses satellite technology to pinpoint the exact location of an enemy ship, and the nearest long-range missile launcher. Then, supposedly the Navy can override the computer system to launch an attack… even using the enemy's own missiles."

"Twenty-four hours ago, two men kidnapped Jeanne Benoit's daughter, and demanded she hand over the blueprint for this weapon," Gibbs said.

Kort shook his head, "That doesn't make any sense—this technology already exists. The weapon itself has been available for purchase for over three years. If Bruno's willing to pay, someone will sell."

"The death star is operational," Tony joked.

Both men looked at him with blank expressions.

"Sorry," he said. "So, what does the blueprint have that the weapon doesn't?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.

* * *

McGee stood beside Ziva, his arms crossed, listening to the interrogation from the adjacent room. "Kort's right," he said to Ziva, "It doesn't make any sense. Which would you rather have—the blueprint to _make_ the weapon, or the weapon itself?"

Ziva's eyes were narrowed, intently watching Trent Kort through the glass. She answered without breaking her stare. "It means we are missing something, McGee."

McGee nodded and reviewed the facts. A naval scientist sold the blueprint for the satellite weapon system. Someone killed him and sold it to La Grenouille, who bought the materials and paid someone to produce it. He then split the profits from the sale of the _actual_ weapon with Bruno in exchange for information about Tony. Three years later, Bruno reappears, desperately trying to locate the original blueprint.

"You're right," he said to Ziva, "We are _definitely_ missing something."

Before Ziva could respond, the cell phone in Jeanne's coat pocket started to ring loudly. Her eyes grew wide as she fumbled to free the device from the confines of the jacket.

"I will get Gibbs," Ziva said, rushing out of the room.

McGee flipped his phone open and punched in the number for Abby's lab. She answered on the first ring.

"Hey, McGee—I'm ready when you are," she said, before he had a chance to respond. It was no surprise. Abby was usually one step ahead.

Gibbs, Tony, and a reluctant Kort hurried into the room as McGee hooked the speaker and transmitter up to the ringing phone.

Gibbs nodded at Jeanne. "Showtime," he said confidently.

She took a deep breath and flipped open her phone. "Hello?" she asked, voice quivering slightly.

McGee could hear Abby's fingers clicking at lightning speed through his phone. "Alright, McGee… just tell her to keep him on the phone."

"_Good morning, Miss __Benoît__." _The voice over the speaker was gravelly. _"I hope you are well-rested."_

"Let me talk to my daughter," she demanded.

The man on the line chuckled, _"You seem to misunderstand our arrangement, Miss. Benoit. When you give me the blueprint, I'll give you your daughter."_

Gibbs nodded at her and held up a slip of paper for her to read.

"How do I know she's even alive?" she asked, her voice catching on the last word.

_"Look at your phone,"_ he instructed.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. A photo file had been sent, her daughter was seen sitting in a small white chair, a newspaper clutched in her small fingers. The date was current.

"It's nearly there, McGee… just a few more seconds," Abby instructed.

McGee motioned Jeanne to keep talking.

"You haven't even told me what I am looking for," she said.

_"It is not necessary. If you cannot find it, I am sure you will find someone who can."_

Jeanne looked at Gibbs with a helpless expression. He motioned for her to go on. "Why is this so important now?" she asked. "My father died over three years ago."

_"Weapons systems are not built overnight, Jeanne. You have twenty-four hours."_ The phone clicked. The man had severed the connection.

"Damn it!" Abby howled into the phone.

McGee groaned. They had been so close.

Gibbs walked over and grabbed the phone out of his hands. "How close did you get, Abby?" He stopped moving for a few seconds, listening. "Alright—I'll send you the photo. I'll see you in an hour." He clicked the phone closed and tossed it back to McGee.

"Abby narrowed it down to a ten-mile radius on the south side of D.C. Tony, call metro and let them know. I want every available person scouring that area." Gibbs opened the door to let the rest of the team walk through.

"I'm assuming you're finished with me?" Kort asked with a smirk.

Gibbs glared at him, "You're finished when I say you're finished, Kort." He spun around and walked quickly out of the room, leaving Kort no other option but to follow.

* * *

NCIS Headquarters

09:30

As usual, the music in Abby's lab was blaring when Tony walked through the door. She was standing in front of her computer, manipulating the photo of Jeanne's daughter.

"Hey Gibbs," she said without turning around.

Gibbs moved to stand next to her and set her large Caf-Pow down on the table. She smiled and took a long sip. He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"Well, you didn't say it yet!" she laughed.

He rolled his eyes. "What'dya got, Abbs?"

"Thank you." She spun around to grab something, and noticed Tony and Jeanne for the first time. She stopped for a second and narrowed her eyes at Jeanne before continuing. "So, this picture was sent from the cheapest camera phone on the market." She purposefully walked between Jeanne and Tony, forcing them apart. Tony saw Gibbs hide a smile. "So the resolution sucks," she continued talking as she walked to her printer and tore off a sheet of paper. "But, I've been able to enlarge and depixelate the background so that it's more visible."

"So, you know where they're keeping her?" Gibbs asked.

Abby held up a finger and blasted back between Tony and Jeanne. "Not yet. But I will." She went back to the computer, and enlarged a portion of the photo. "We're looking for some kind of warehouse, with a brick interior… and she's sitting on some kind of crate. I think it has wording, but it's too small to see and I'm not entirely sure it is in English."

"That all?"

She rolled her eyes, "I can't tell you _what_ building it is, but I can tell you that the structure itself narrows the possibilities down to a few square miles. We know it's near a waterway—and if the call to Jeanne's cell phone was placed in the near vicinity, it's only a matter of time before we knock on the right door."

"If it's the right door, we probably shouldn't knock," Tony stated.

"Good point," she replied.

"Good work Abby," Gibbs said, kissing her on the cheek before walking toward the door. "I'll send Ziva down to help you translate whatever writing is on that crate."

"Gibbs, it's going to take me a couple hours to enlarge it enough to even _see_ the letters… and that's _if_ it isn't too distorted," she said, squinting at the screen.

He smiled as he exited the lab, "I have faith in you."

She sighed heavily and turned back around to face Tony and Jeanne. She crossed her arms, "so… you're the infamous Jeanne Benoît." She walked toward the pair, narrowing her eyes.

Jeanne cleared her throat, "Its Abby, right?"

Abby stopped directly in front of Jeanne. She didn't reply.

"Thank you for helping to find Leah," Jeanne said, offering a small smile.

Abby looked the other woman up and down. After a few seconds, she said, "You have a hair on your sweater."

Jeanne shook her head, "What?"

Abby rolled her eyes and touched Jeanne's shoulder, "A hair," she repeated, holding it up. "It's been bugging the hell out me." Without another word, she spun around and walked to the trash can.

Tony sighed and put his hand on Jeanne's back, steering her toward the door. "Don't worry about Abby, sometimes it takes her a little while to warm up to people. It's nothing personal."

As they walked through the double doors, Abby yelled, "I heard that!"

Tony left Jeanne waiting by the elevator and walked back into the lab. Abby was standing the middle of the room, arms crossed. He stopped in front of her and raised his eyebrows.

After a few seconds, she rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Tony." She threw her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly. "I'll be nice. But if she hurts you again, all bets are off," she added, pulling back and poking him with a finger.

He kissed her cheek. "I'm fine, Abby," he said, before turning toward the exit.

Abby sighed as he disappeared through the doors and around the corner. She hoped he was telling the truth.

* * *

09:45

Ziva was chewing on the end of her pencil, head propped on her elbow. McGee was on the phone with Georgetown Hospital. She was sorting a box of La Grenouille's belongings that Kort had asked to be brought to NCIS. Supposedly, they were items that had been in his possession at the time of the Arms Dealer's death. The CIA had taken everything related to the undercover assignment and shoved it in some dark evidence warehouse. _Lucky us_, she thought, _always cleaning up other agency's messes._

McGee interrupted her thoughts, "That was a doctor from Georgetown. Henri Lefevre died about an hour ago in the ICU."

Ziva was impressed. "She must have hit him hard."

"I definitely heard a cracking noise." Jeanne had just rounded the corner cubicle, Tony at her heals.

Ziva took a short breath and ensured that her face was neutral before turning around to face them. "Cracks can sometimes be deceiving," she replied, smirking. It was true—she had once thrown a wooden clog at a Dutchman hard enough to crack the brick behind him; and he had only suffered a mild concussion.

Before Jeanne had a chance to respond, Gibbs appeared, phone pressed to his ear.

"Yeah—got it, thanks," he hung up his phone and tossed it onto his desk. "Ziva, I need you to go downstairs and help Abby, Tony and McGee—finish sorting through that box," he said, pointing at the box on Ziva's desk. He grabbed his gun out of his desk drawer. "I'm taking Jeanne back to the safe house."

Ziva picked up the box and shoved it into Tony's arms with a vindictive smile, "Kort is in the conference room on the phone if you have any questions."

Tony grunted under the weight, "Great, thanks," he huffed.

Ziva spun on her heel and headed toward the elevator without looking back.

* * *

_fin_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **7

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 6

**Note: **This Jeane-less chapter is dedicated to Betherzz. Thanks to my wonderful beta, whose fabulous suggestions make these characters interact so much better. It is finals week for both of us, so posting more than once a week is impossible. I should actually be studying right now… ugh.

Hope you enjoy, I am so glad you have stuck with me… we're getting to some saucy stuff ;o)

_Phoof_

* * *

09:45

Tony grunted as Ziva shoved the heavy box into his arms without warning.

"Kort is in the conference room on the phone if you have any questions," she said snidely.

"Great, thanks," he managed while hoisting the box up with his knee to redistribute the weight. When he looked back up, she was halfway across the bullpen, heading toward the elevator. She was upset, and doing a terrible job of hiding it. Every part of him wanted to chase after her, but he knew it was impossible. Jeanne stood a foot away, as did the rest of the team—if he responded abnormally, the two worlds they were balancing could collide.

_God, _he thought, _talk about melodrama. _Sometimes his life reminded him of an episode of _Dawson's Creek_.

He sighed inwardly and looked up at McGee, who was watching Ziva enter the elevator. Taking advantage of his partner's inattentiveness, he shoved the box into his open arms and smiled.

"I'm going to the vending machine—meet you in the conference room," he said as McGee did his best to keep the box upright.

"Tony, if you're not back in five minutes I'll..." the rest of McGee's objection faded into the distance as Tony crossed the bullpen and rounded the corner out of earshot.

* * *

10:00

McGee took a bite of his Nutter Butter and flipped to the next week of the schedule book he was reading. "Frenchmen sure get a lot of manicures," he noted. "La Grenouille had one scheduled for every Tuesday at 1600… I'm surprised he had cuticles left."

Tony looked up from the bank statement he had been staring at, "An Arms Dealer obsessed with keeping his hands clean… kind of ironic," he mused.

"Manicure was a code word for Company Meeting." Kort didn't lower the magazine when he spoke, he just kept reading.

"Huh," McGee said thoughtfully. He looked back down at the weekly planner, "So what does 'massage' stand for?"

"Massage," Kort answered dryly, eyes still hidden behind the magazine.

McGee looked at Tony, who rolled his eyes.

"Gee Kort, I don't think you could _be_ more helpful," Tony said sarcastically. "Maybe we'll have to keep you around longer." He shot an amused smile toward the other man.

Kort sighed heavily and tossed his reading material into the trash can. "Fine, give me the damn bank statements."

Tony smirked and tossed them over to him.

As obnoxious as he could be sometimes, Tony was also mildly entertaining.

McGee turned the next few pages of the planner, skimming the contents. "Massages, seaweed wraps, salon visits… unless these are all code words, he spent a lot of money on trivial services."

"He's an Arms Dealer, McGee—most of those were offered free from clients," Kort replied.

"The second rule of gun-running is: always ensure you have a foolproof way of getting paid," Tony said as he rustled through the contents of the box. "Nicholas Cage in _Lord of War_."

McGee furrowed his brow and asked the question Tony was obviously waiting for. "So then what's the first rule of gun-running?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Never get shot with your own merchandise."

* * *

10:30

Ziva propped herself on top of the countertop in Abby's lab and opened her yogurt. The cell phone picture, visible on the large screen, was still too blurry to work with. Abby was a few feet away, meticulously manipulating the image.

"So what is she like?" Abby asked as she enlarged part of the background. "I always imagined her kind of… ogre-like."

Ziva laughed as she took a bite of her yogurt. "What is an ogre?" she asked.

Abby turned to look at her, "You know… green, ugly, snaggle-toothed," she held her fingers in front of her lips to look like teeth. "Kind of like a troll, but without the bridge."

"She is as far from snaggle-toothed as one can be," Ziva replied. She took another bite of yogurt.

Abby huffed and turned back to the computer screen, "Perfect teeth," she said snidely, "Probably had braces."

Ziva laughed again, "why are you so interested, Abby?"

"I'm worried that she'll use her ogre powers to take Tony away," Abby said firmly.

Ziva smiled at the back of Abby's head, "I do not think you have anything to worry about."

"Ziva!" Abby cried, indignant. "She broke Tony's heart! He was not the same Tony after she left."

Ziva nodded. "Perhaps you are looking at it backwards," she said, furrowing her brow in thought. "She made it possible to break Tony's heart."

Abby shook her head, "You _want_ his heart to be broken?" she asked with a note of sadness in her voice.

"No, of course not. I am saying that before he met her, he was incapable of loving someone for longer than a day."

Abby turned back toward the screen, returning to the photograph. "I wonder how she did it…."

Ziva grimaced, "probably the same way anybody else does it, Abby," she said with a note of disgust.

Abby looked over her shoulder at Ziva and laughed, "Not 'how did she have sex,' Ziva! How did she make Tony fall in love with her?" she clarified.

"Whenever anyone else in America says 'did it,' they are always talking about sex," Ziva replied.

Abby thought about it for a minute. "Good point." She looked at Ziva with a sly smile.

Ziva furrowed her brow, "what?"

"So, Ziva," she said mischievously, "have you _done it_ lately?"

Ziva wondered, in that moment, if Abby knew something. She looked at her face; her expression looked intrigued, yet innocent. Her interest probably had more to do with lack of information than anything else. She and Ziva had developed a surprising friendship over the past five years. Until the last three months, they had always shared the highlights of their love lives (or lack thereof) with one another.

She shook her head, "No, I have hit what Tony would call a desert spell." This was not a complete lie.

Abby snorted, "Dry spell," she corrected, "but I get the idea." She turned back and tapped the mouse a few times, pulling the edges of the crate apart so it was large enough to fill the screen. It was still highly pixilated. She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples. "You might as well go find something else to do… this might take awhile."

Ziva slid off the counter and adjusted her vest, "Call me when you are ready?"

"Absolutely," Abby replied.

* * *

11:00

Ducky had already removed the base of Henri Lefevre's skull when Gibbs entered the lab. He heard the hiss of the door and heavy footsteps moving slowly toward him from behind.

He handed Palmer the skull chisel before carefully removing the brain and setting it on the scale. "Afternoon, Jethro," he said without turning around.

"One-point-two kilograms, Doctor Mallard," Palmer said.

Ducky glanced at the scale, "Slightly small for an adult male," he said, tipping it so that he could better see the organ. "The average weight is one-point-three-six kilograms, even less for a female."

"The smallest brain on record was only point-six-eight kilograms," Palmer added.

"Yes, in 1908. Good recall, Mr. Palmer." He turned to look at Gibbs, pointing his forceps at the brain. "Contrary to popular belief, brain size is not related to level of intelligence. The brain of Albert Einstein weighed only one-point-two three… only one-three-hundredths more than this poor fellow."

"Duck," Gibbs said.

"Patience, Jethro," he said as he returned the brain to the autopsy table. "It will only take me a moment to learn if this man died as a result of his brain injury." He pulled apart the tissue to view the cerebrum, studying it carefully.

"Did you know that Albert Einstein's brain was stolen and kept in a mason jar for over twenty years…" Palmer was silenced by Gibbs' irritated stare. "Sorry."

Ducky chuckled and adjusted his grip on the forceps to better expose the internal layers of tissue. "There we are," he said as he located the damage. "He received quite a knock from that frying pan. Did I ever tell you about the time my Aunt Frances ran a band of grave robbers out of the local cemetery in--."

"Ducky!" Gibbs said loudly, interrupting his thought process.

"Right… the damage was extensive. If he had lived, he would have most likely have been a vegetable for the rest of his life." He handed the forceps to Palmer, who placed them in the water bin.

"If I find anything contradictory, I will let you know."

Gibbs clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Duck," he said as he walked toward the exit.

Ducky shifted his gaze to Henri Lefevre's face, "Well, my dear boy, this was a hard lesson to learn. Never try to separate a momma bear from her cub." He opened the man's eyes to look at the pupils. "Perhaps you would have avoided making this mistake again had you lived."

* * *

11:30

Tony leaned against the elevator railing and tapped the bag of take-out food against his leg. He and McGee had spent an hour sifting through the box of CIA crap without finding anything useful. Needing a break, he volunteered to go on a food run.

The elevator came to a stop on the second floor. He looked up as the door opened, revealing Ziva. She was standing with her hand on her hip, impatiently tapping her foot. Their eyes met, and a hesitant look crossed her face before she stepped inside. The doors closed, leaving them standing side-by-side.

Tony pulled a takeout container out of the bag he was carrying and held it out to her, still staring straight ahead.

She took it out of his hands and stole a glance at him before peaking inside to view the contents. Seconds later, she reached across him and punched the emergency stop button. The elevator came to a halt, leaving them in quiet darkness.

"Orange chicken?" she asked, still facing forward.

"Odd name considering it isn't orange," he said, tapping his fingers lightly on the railing. He glanced at the side of her head, "Kind of like _A Clockwork Orange_, no oranges involved there either."

"Thank you."

He set the bag down and turned toward her. "Ziva?"

Her expression remained stoic. "Tony, we have an agreement," she said.

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "You didn't have to stop the elevator to tell me that."

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his. He ran his fingers along her cheek bones and cupped her face in his hands. She sighed; the stormy expression began to dissolve, her brown eyes softened. After a few seconds, she allowed him to pull her closer.

"This… is more difficult than I thought…" she said quietly.

"I know," he replied. Her body felt stiff in his arms, as if she was trying to keep her distance. He rubbed the sides of her neck lightly. Communication was something that they struggled with. Sometimes it seemed like they existed on opposite sides of a wall, lined with explosives.

"You loved her."

"I did."

She looked up at him again, still clutching her orange chicken container. "And now…"

"I don't," he finished, resting his forehead against hers. The silence of the elevator offered a refreshing change of pace, however fleeting.

"Tony…" she pulled her face back and looked him in the eyes, "I know it is not easy for you, and I would understand if…."

He leaned down and kissed her softly, silencing her, his fingers massaging her temples. "Ziva," he whispered, "There's nothing to understand." He kissed her again, breathing in the smell of her, feeling her soft skin under his fingertips. He plucked the container out of her hands and set it down. "You can't get rid of me that easily." She smiled and relaxed her body, allowing him to pull her closer. It had been days since he had been alone with her; not that a stopped elevator really counted as an intimate moment.

She smiled, "I guess I do not have to kill her then," she said cheerily.

He rolled his eyes.

She stepped closer to him, pushing his back against the elevator wall. She started kissing him slowly, her lips making his body ache for her. He kissed her neck, her cheeks, her ears. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his fingers laced into her hair. Their breathing started to deepen; his body was demanding him to continue.

As suddenly as it started, she pulled back. "We have to go back," she whispered hoarsely.

He nodded and smoothed her hair with his fingers, kissing her one more time. "Yeah, we should," he agreed before picking the takeout bag up and hitting the button again. The elevator lights came on and resumed its ascension.

"Queer as a clockwork orange," she said suddenly.

"You've seen the movie?" he asked, a disbelieving note in his voice.

"I Read the book."

He smiled and turned forward as the elevator doors started to part.

* * *

McGee noticed the elevator lights moving again. He walked to stand in front of the doors, waiting. A few seconds later, they opened to reveal Tony and Ziva, standing side-by-side wearing matching bored expressions.

Tony held out the take-out bag he was holding, "Look at that, door to door service. Top one's yours."

McGee raised his eyebrows, "I thought Gibbs was in a meeting," he said.

"No, he was taking the stairs," Gibbs said, suddenly appearing in the doorframe of the stairwell. He stopped in front of Tony and Ziva, still standing outside the elevator. "Elevator broken, DiNozzo?" he asked.

Tony cleared his throat, "Well, boss, you know how unreliable that elevator can be," he replied.

Ziva shot Gibbs an innocent expression, "NCIS should really get that fixed."

McGee rolled his eyes and grabbed the takeout from Tony. "We've still got half a box left in the conference room, Tony."

"Great." Tony looked less than enthusiastic.

Gibbs walked through the group, "Faster you get done, faster Kort leaves," he said.

Tony brightened, "Well let's get to work. What're you standing around for, McGee?" He laughed, quickening his step toward the conference room.

* * *

He had known for a while.

It was a secret that was kept by every individual separately—never talked about.

He didn't know when it had begun, and didn't ask. They had been on a collision course for months; barreling toward one another like magnets_. _The change itself, however, was minute; if he hadn't been with them every day for five years, he may not have noticed. In fact, he wouldn't have noticed at all if not for a slight slip-up on Tony's account.

_"Get Tony and Ziva out of bed." It had been a simple request, a miscommunication that became ironic a few minutes later. Of course, Gibbs had meant get them out of bed separately… McGee was more tired than he thought._

_A minute later, he hit the speed dial for Ziva's cell phone. He was still chiding himself for the ridiculous misunderstanding when Tony answered the phone._

_"Yea, McNarcolepsy?" he said, sounding half asleep. _

_McGee's first thought was that Tony had the uncanny ability to be sarcastic while asleep. The second was that he had called Ziva's cell phone… and Tony had answered. He suddenly felt wide awake._

_After a second of silence, Tony spoke again, "McGee? Did you butt-dial me?" He yawned into the phone._

_Tony hadn't yet realized that he had answered Ziva's cell phone by mistake. McGee's mind quickly went through every reasonable possibility for the mix-up… all of which were illogical. He knew the truth. _

_He cleared his throat, "Dead marine—Gibbs told me to wake you up." He paused, thinking over his next sentence. "And Tony?"_

"_Yeah?" he said, his voice becoming more lucid._

"_Find Ziva… I don't think she has her cell phone on her." He hung up before Tony had the chance to respond. He tapped his phone against his chin a few times, considering the situation. He was surprised that he _wasn't_ surprised._

_McGee trusted these people with his life, and of two things he was sure: neither one would ever voluntarily jeopardize the team over something trivial. So, whatever was happening was not trivial._

* * *

_Phoof_


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **8

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 7

**Note: **Sorry about the time lapse. My beta and I had finals and then my internet took a shit. I am currently updating from Barnes and Noble. If someone wants to send AT&T hate-mail, be my guest.

So, I took on a scene in Jurisdiction this week that had been bothering me and manipulated it to fit in my story. Do not ask me to do this with last week's NCIS episode, however, because I can't. Besides, Tony would never fall in love with someone he doesn't know. Look how long it took him to fall for Jeanne. Therefore, I am ignoring _Obsession_ completely, as it is not in canon.

Enjoy this chapter. I wrote in a TIVA scene because you all deserve it for sticking with me.

_Phoof_

* * *

16:00

They had been working for hours; digging through a box of what Ziva had referred to as "unorganized crap," and had discovered nothing of use. Tony and Ziva were about to throw everything back in the box and ship it back to the CIA with a "pay on arrival" stamp when McGee found the envelope.

It was at the bottom, the last item in the last box. A small, unmarked manila envelope that was nearly overlooked held the key to the puzzle. McGee opened it and dumped the contents onto the conference room table. Tony was buried behind a stack of papers, whining about the wasted afternoon, and only looked up when McGee was dangling the silver key in front of him. It was numbered, two-zero-seven with a bulky keychain attached.

Ziva leaned across the table, looking at it curiously. "Isn't that one of those… robots?" she asked, tipping her head at the keychain.

"Droid—not robot, Ziva." McGee answered. "It's R2-D2, from…."

"Star Wars," Tony finished thoughtfully, before plucking the keychain from McGee's fingers. The silver R2-D2 reproduction was small, only about two inches in height. As the key twirled in the air, hanging from his fingers, Tony suddenly realized that the answer had been right in front of him all along. "The Death Star is operational," he said to himself.

"What?" McGee asked.

"It's R2-D2!" He said with a laugh. He turned the key over, looking at the numbers that were punched into the base.

"Yeah, I can see that… what does R2-D2 have to do with stolen navy blueprints?" he rolled his eyes, watching Tony study the numbers.

Tony was grinning from ear to ear, "They hid the blueprint in the droid, McGee!"

Ziva rolled her eyes and grabbed the keychain from Tony, turning it over in her hands. "You are not making sense, DiNozzo," she said before banging the object against the table, "This… droid is not hiding anything."

"Not _in_ it physically, Ziva," he grabbed it back from her and held it up, "In Star Wars episode four, the rebel alliance stole the blueprints for the death star and hid them…"

"Inside R2-D2," McGee finished, catching on to Tony's train of thought.

"I still do not follow," Ziva said, crossing her arms and looking from Tony to McGee.

"They don't need the blueprint to _make_ the weapon," Tony said, "They want it so they can learn how to _destroy_ the weapon."

McGee nodded, "We've been looking at it backwards."

Tony grinned and tossed the key across the table to McGee. "Find the droid, find the blueprint."

McGee caught the key and swung it around his finger with a smile, "Find the blueprint, find the kidnapper."

"Find the kidnapper, find the kid," Gibbs said, entering the room from the hallway without missing a beat. "Good work, DiNozzo."

"Now we have to figure out what this key opens," McGee added, handing it to Gibbs.

He took a drink of his coffee and turned it over in his hand. "Send it to Abby."

* * *

One Month Prior

_On the way up to Ziva's apartment, Tony grabbed the FedEx package that was sitting by the row of mailboxes. It was addressed to her from someone in Israel, and he was curious to know who she was still in contact with. He was grateful that his nosiness could be easily masked as a Good Samaritan act… she wouldn't have to walk down three flights of stairs to get her mail. At least that was what he told himself._

_When he reached the door, he knocked lightly. There was a muffled thump, followed by footsteps toward the door. After a short delay, presumably to look through the peep hole, the door opened._

_"Good morning," Ziva said evenly, opening the door for him. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, skin moist, wearing very, very small shorts. _

_Tony tried not to stare at her long, lean, _very_ attractive legs as he walked through the doorframe. "Hey," he said, voice cracking like an adolescent. He held the thick envelope out after she let go of the door, letting it close._

_She rolled her eyes, "They are yoga shorts, Tony," she said, walking past him into the kitchen, glancing momentarily at the package. "That can go in the coat closet with the other letters from my father."_

_"They are very small yoga shorts," he corrected as he opened the coat closet door as instructed. Inside was a large bin, full of identical envelopes, all unopened. "You should invest in FedEx stock," he quipped, throwing the package in with the rest and closing the door. He turned around and chuckled, "I think you have some unresolved daddy issues, Ziva."_

_She shrugged and poured coffee for herself and Tony. "The pot calls the kettle black," she said, smirking at him. She picked up both mugs as he walked around the counter into the kitchen. _

_He stopped in front of her and raised his eyebrows._

_"What?" she frowned, "I said it correctly."_

_He smiled and lifted both mugs from her hands, and set them down on the counter behind her, trapping her between his arms. "You did say it right," he agreed. _

_She smiled and held his gaze, brown eyes unblinking. He stole another glance at her shorts, but his eyes weren't fast enough. She caught him ogling. "You know," she whispered, standing up straight and looking at him from under her thick eyelashes, "You have seen me in less." She placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him backwards. _

_He swallowed, remembering. "Well… yeah, but that was… we weren't…" he trailed off as she backed him up another few steps. His attempt to end the sentence failed. Putting their… relationship into words was more difficult than he imagined. Any definition that he came up with didn't adequately describe how he felt, and the idea that his feelings were stronger than words was terrifying. _

_"Were not _what_?" Her voice sounded seductive, her brown eyes were entrancing. She was pushing him into uncharted waters in more ways than one._

_He felt his back bump the kitchen wall. He let out a nervous laugh, eyes still locked with hers. "Not… playing grab-ass in your kitchen, for one thing." He tried to regain control of the situation, but electricity was shooting up and down his spine every time she touched him._

_She held her face inches from his. "Is that what this is, Tony?" She reached behind him suddenly and squeezed his butt with both hands. "A game?"_

_He inhaled sharply, his body screaming for her to continue. It took every fiber of his being to ignore the impulses she was igniting in him. He exhaled and reached behind him to pull her hands off. He intertwined his fingers with hers. "No, it's not what this is."_

_Her face softened and her body relaxed. "Okay."_

"_Okay?"_

_She looked at him with a serious expression, her eyes trying to read his. "We are risking our jobs, Tony." Her voice was quiet. "And I do not think I could do that if…."_

"_I only wanted to grab your ass," he finished._

"_Or something along that line," she agreed, nodding her head thoughtfully._

"_Right." He hid a smile as he let go of her hands and lifted her off her feet before turning around and setting her down on the counter. "For the record, though, I wouldn't have a problem with grabbing your… you know." He furrowed his brow into what he hoped looked like a serious expression._

_Her cheeks turned pink and she looked down briefly before meeting his eyes again. "How about breakfast first?" she said with an amused voice._

"_I like breakfast," he said in a low voice, leaning in to kiss her. _

_A second later, they were interrupted by the vibration of her phone on the counter. She turned it over to look at the caller id. It was Gibbs._

"_We may have to push our date back," she sighed as she flipped the phone open to answer._

* * *

16:30

Gibbs opened the door to M-TAC and moved silently toward where Vance was standing. He was conferencing with the NCIS team located in France, sharing intelligence. From what Gibbs was able to gather from the few minutes of conversation, they hadn't found anything helpful on their end.

"Thanks for the call, Piot. Let us know if you think of anything else." Vance took off his headset and signaled for the connection to be severed. He twirled his toothpick, staring at the blank screen. "How much time we got left?" he asked.

Gibbs looked at his watch, "Ten hours, give or take."

"Let's pray that it's the former," he said. "Any progress?"

He nodded, "DiNozzo found a key."

Leon waited for him to continue. After a few seconds, he turned to look at Gibbs, eyebrows raised. "Does it open something?"

"Well, gee Leon, I hope so," he said sarcastically, "did you call me up here for a reason?"

"Paris didn't find anything helpful at La Grenouille's estate," he replied.

"Gathered that." Gibbs was becoming impatient.

"I just want to know if you have a plan B, Agent Gibbs. We're running out of time and…"

"Still workin' on Plan A," he said, cutting the director off. He turned toward the door.

"What happens if it fails?" he asked as Gibbs reached the door.

He stopped, hand on the doorknob. "I guess we'll know in ten hours." He opened the door and walked out without waiting for a response.

* * *

16:45

Tony watched as Abby inspected the key and slurped her Caf-Pow, now nearly empty. She turned it over in her hands and held it up to the light.

"Will you be able to tell where it's from?" McGee asked

She rolled her eyes and tossed it back at Tony, "I don't even need brainpower to figure it out, McGee." She tossed her Caf-Pow into the garbage. "It's a locker key from Dulles International Airport."

Ziva glanced at the small, numbered key in Tony's hands. "How do you know?" she asked.

Abby turned toward her computer, back to the three agents, "Because I am brilliant, Ziva… and because it is stamped "IAD" along the edge."

Gibbs entered the lab as she spoke, Caf-Pow in hand. "Good work, Abs."

She smiled without turning around, "Thank you. I do my best."

"Any luck with the lettering?" Ziva asked, walking over to the computer where Abby stood.

She nodded, "The lettering is in French, and the crates look like they might be wine crates."

Tony moved to stand next to Ziva, watching the screen flick to a close up of the letters. "How many warehouses carry French wine in the area?" he asked.

"Quite a few," she answered. "But, the good news is we can narrow that list down by looking for abandoned buildings or ones that aren't frequently used." She hit a button and another screen popped up with a long list of addresses.

"Hard to hide a toddler in a busy export warehouse," McGee agreed.

"Unless they _run_ the export business, McGee," Gibbs added.

"Is that what your gut says?" Tony asked.

Gibbs shot them a half smile, "No, DiNozzo. But, we should consider all possibilities."

"Right, boss," Abby said, mimicking Tony's voice. She grinned and turned back toward the computer when he shot her a look.

"Ziva and I will go find the locker. I want the two of you to narrow down the list of possible warehouse locations," Gibbs said, nodding at Tony and McGee.

Abby hit the print button on her computer screen, printing her compiled addresses. In the opposite corner of the lab, one of her machine's started beeping. McGee made a move toward it, and was immediately stopped by Abby's protest.

"McGee, don't touch it!"

He turned around to look at her, "Touch _what_? I was just going to shut the alarm off."

She breezed past him toward the noise, punching a few buttons to quiet it. Tony found her sudden outburst strange, but not overly suspicious. She was obviously up to something; but, knowing Abby, they would eventually find out what it was.

"What are you using the…" McGee started to ask a question, and was cut off again.

"_What_ I am doing is none of your business, McGee," she said in a serious voice. He opened his mouth again, and she walked over and clamped it shut with her hand. "No more questions. Too much work to do."

He nodded, her hand still covering his mouth.

She looked at Tony. "List is printed." She let go of McGee. "Now, go solve this case." Abby stepped back and folded her arms, waiting.

Tony shot her one last odd look before he and McGee exited the lab. When they were safely in the elevator, he turned toward McGee. "Weird."

He nodded in agreement.

* * *

17:30

Gibbs and Ziva went directly to airport security when they arrived at Dulles. After flashing their badges, a hefty man with a set of handcuffs and an oversized flashlight hanging from his belt walked them slowly towards the lockers. Ziva wondered if she had ever met someone who walked slower than Security Officer Roy.

"I reckon it'll still be there," Roy was saying to Gibbs, "We don't keep tabs on the used lockers." He looked at Ziva and smiled, proudly flashing all of his four teeth.

"Even if it has not been used in over three years?" she asked him.

He nodded. "We can't follow up on every locker, y'know." He rubbed his double chin, thinking. "So if it _was_ there, it'll still be there." He led them into a quiet corridor to the left, away from the bustling travelers. "Here you be," he said, motioning them to the right. Through the set of double doors was a large room, lockers lining every wall.

Gibbs walked past Roy without a word. Ziva smiled and thanked him before turning around to follow her boss. He was moving quickly through the rows, looking for locker two-zero-seven. They passed the one-hundreds within a few seconds, reaching the end of the row.

"There," Ziva said, pointing straight ahead. It was nestled in the far back corner of the room. She immediately noticed it was not in the range of the security cameras. Gibbs reached the locker and inserted the key, only briefly hesitating before turning it clockwise. She held her breath, afraid it wasn't going to open.

The key turned easily, and the lock made a clicking noise. Both agents exhaled audibly. Gibbs pulled open the door and they both peered inside. The locker was empty except for a long cardboard tube that leaned against the metal interior. Gibbs pulled it out and inspected it before popping the top open. He only had to pull out the top corner of the contents.

The blueprint still looked to be in good condition. The top edges were slightly bent, but from what Ziva could see, the print was still readable.

Gibbs pushed it back into the tube and returned the lid. "Let's go get this bastard," he said.

* * *

18:00

McGee had the list of possible warehouses narrowed down to twelve by the time Gibbs and Ziva returned to the NCIS headquarters. Fornell had called twice in the past hour for updates and Vance had been staring at him and Tony from the top of the stairs for almost nine minutes, silently chewing on his toothpick. McGee was glad that they had not returned empty handed.

"So, we've got the blueprint," McGee said, moving his warehouse addresses to the large screen, "Now we make the trade?"

"First we try and locate them," Gibbs said.

McGee motioned toward the plasma screen. "I've got it narrowed down to these warehouses, all exported French wine at some point and all are now abandoned.

At his desk, Tony hung up the phone and stood up to join the rest of the team. "Boss, we got a hit on the bolo. A black SUV was found in an alley off south west Water Street. License plates match.

McGee turned back to the screen, highlighting four of the addresses. "These four warehouses are within five blocks of there."

"You do not think they are still using that vehicle?" Ziva asked.

"They can't be that stupid," Tony replied, ripping the paper with the SUV's location off his pad.

"Seen worse," Gibbs said. "I'll call Fornell, and we'll scope these four locations out. Tony and Ziva, I want you to follow up on the BOLO."

Tony reached over his desk and grabbed his gun out of the drawer. "Right, boss." He shoved it into his holster and turned around just in time to catch the car keys Gibbs had thrown in midair. He and Ziva turned toward the elevator.

"Wait."

Tony and Ziva turned back to look at Gibbs.

"We have to update the director before he stares a hole through the back of my head."

Everyone looked up towards Vance, who was leaning over the upstairs railing, eyes on the four agents. Without a word, he nodded and turned back toward M-TAC without saying a word.

Gibbs sighed and started toward the stairs, the rest of the team following close behind.

* * *

_One month prior_

_Ziva sat next to Tony in the bullpen, soda in hand. "You are my friend," she said, answering Tony's question._

_"Really?" he asked, feigning shock._

_She smirked at him, "No." There was no use giving him ammunition. Besides, it was not a complete lie. "My date cancelled." She turned back toward the television screen and took a drink of her soda. The plans they had made for dinner had been interrupted by work again._

_"Mine too," he replied, shooting her a small smile._

_She opened her mouth to add something snarky, but thought better of it. Instead, she leaned back in her office chair to watch a movie, thinking this was the strangest date she had ever been on._


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **9

**Disclaimer: **The characters of NCIS do not belong to me. The plot is entirely made up, and any similarities are strictly coincidence (this is an exception to Rule #39).

**Note: **This chapter wasn't originally in the story plot, but I thought my faithful readers deserved some true TIVA action. So, I hope you enjoy this brief plot hiatus.

* * *

18:05

The four NCIS agents followed the director into M-TAC, letting the door close quietly behind them.

"Because this has been a joint effort with the FBI, there is no room for error." Vance spoke directly to Gibbs, who discreetly rolled his eyes.

"Fornell is on his way here with Jeanne. When they arrive, we'll map out a plan for finding the warehouse. I need everyone to keep in contact and be reachable at all times." He pulled a toothpick from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and stuck it between his teeth.

"DiNozzo and David are going to follow up on the bolo," Gibbs said.

Vance nodded. "Alright," he said, turning to look at the two agents. "Make sure you let us know immediately if you find anything."

Tony nodded. He and Ziva moved swiftly toward the door, disappearing around the corner.

"Where's the blueprint?" Vance asked Gibbs.

Gibbs took a long sip of his coffee before responding. "Locked in my desk," he said simply.

Vance nodded. "I want to be clear; we don't use it unless absolutely necessary. Understood?"

* * *

18:20

Jeanne took a deep breath as she followed Agent Fornell into the NCIS building. It had been an hour or so since he had updated her on the situation and her heart was still beating at light speed. Her arms ached to hold her daughter again. She nervously bit her lip as they ascended in the elevator toward the squad room. When the doors opened, the first person she saw was Tony. He was standing next to Agent David, leaning against the wall, waiting for the elevator doors to open. For a moment, she hoped he had been waiting for her.

"Gibbs upstairs?" Fornell asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Tony nodded, "Waiting on you, Fornell." His eyes shifted briefly to Jeanne's face. Her pulse quickened. She cursed her sympathetic nervous system.

"The director wants Jeanne upstairs in M-TAC," Ziva said, eyes probing Jeanne's.

After she had overheard the conversation between the two agents at the safe house, she had wondered if there was something between them. If they were involved, she decided, they were doing an excellent job of covering it up while on the job. She tried to push away the feelings of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm her.

"We're going to follow up on the bolo," Tony said to Fornell as he and Ziva entered the elevator.

Jeanne turned toward the squad room as the elevator doors started to close. She cursed herself for allowing feelings for Tony to resurface. Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, she took a deep breath to refocus. This was not the time to allow herself to think about the 'what if's.'

* * *

19:00

The sun was beginning to set, bathing the streets in a quiet orange glow. The alley was hidden from the main road by a tall privacy fence. It was no wonder it took so long for a hit to come back on their bolo.

Tony had parked their vehicle directly behind the SUV, for lack of any other option. They had already collected samples of fiber and hair, and were relieved to note the absence of blood anywhere around or inside the vehicle.

Tony shut the SUV's side door and moved to stand next to Ziva. "It's weird that they didn't bother to wipe it clean," he said, dropping the last evidence jar into a plastic baggy.

She nodded in agreement. "Perhaps they did not think Jeanne would go to the police."

Tony turned around and walked back to their car, tapping his ink pen against his chin thoughtfully. He opened the driver's side door and paused before he got in, looking at her. "Or maybe," he added, "they haven't abandoned it."

Ziva walked around to the passenger side and got in. "Why would they continue using a car that the police are looking for?"

Tony shut his door and rested his arm on the steering wheel. "If Bruno Benoit didn't think Jeanne would go to the police, he wouldn't be worried about continuing to drive it." He hit the number for M-TAC on the video phone. After a few seconds, the video feed connected, and Vance and Gibbs could be seen on the small screen.

"It's their SUV, boss," Tony said, "Plates match, and the carpet fibers look similar to the ones Abby pulled off Henri Lefevre's shoes."

"Blood?" Gibbs asked. Tony thought he heard Jeanne's voice in the background.

"No blood," Ziva answered, "Nothing to indicate any harm has come to Jeanne's daughter."

"Good work," Gibbs said.

"Get it back here and we'll get to work on the nearby warehouses. If the vehicle hasn't been abandoned, chances are they are nearby," Vance ordered.

Beside him, Tony suddenly felt Ziva tense. She was turned in her seat, peering out the back window toward the entrance to the alley.

"Ziva, what is it?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him, worry flooding her brown eyes. "There are men standing outside the alley."

Tony glanced back toward the only entrance. It looked empty. "Are you sure?"

"What's going on?" Agent Vance's voice again filled the small car.

Tony watched the mouth of the alley from the side mirror. After a few seconds, he saw a shadowy figure peer around the corner. He turned back toward the video screen where Gibbs, Vance, McGee, and Jeanne now stood, watching them. "There's someone waiting at the entrance to the alley, boss. It looks like Ziva was right—the SUV wasn't abandoned." He looked to his right, where Ziva was turned around in her seat, gun in hand.

"There are four… maybe five of them," she said.

"How long have they been there?" Vance asked.

"Not long," she answered, cocking her gun. "I only just saw them."

"Fornell," Vance said, turning toward his left, "How long would it take a unit to get to them?" Tony didn't hear the response, but from the look on Gibbs' face, he assumed the answer was unsatisfying. He cursed under his breath.

"They have automatic weapons," Ziva said suddenly.

"Fantastic." Tony's voice dripped with sarcasm. He turned back toward the monitor just in time to see Gibbs and Fornell cross the screen.

"Sit tight," he could hear Gibbs say, "We'll be right there."

Tony looked back at the mirror. He could see the outlines of three heads behind the fence, all watching the parked car. Ziva turned back around to face him, her expression fierce. Tony recognized the look.

"I think I can take three if…."

"No." Tony grabbed her wrist, forcing her to lower her gun.

"Tony, they are waiting for us! We cannot just…."

"Jump out of the car with two handguns, Ziva." he finished.

"Do you have a better idea?"

Tony thought for a second, "Yeah. I do." He turned back toward the video screen. Vance, McGee, and Jeanne were looking back at him. "Probie—have Gibbs and Fornell follow them when they leave the alley. Tell him to leave the rest up to us." Before McGee had a chance to reply, Tony ended the transmission.

* * *

"Damnit!" Vance shouted as the screen went black. "What the hell are they doing?" He shot a look at McGee, who was already on the phone with Gibbs, filling him in.

"I don't know, boss," he was saying, "I'm just relaying the message." He nodded his head, listening. "Me too." McGee shut his phone and turned back toward the director.

"Is there a street camera nearby?" Vance asked.

McGee hurried over to the control unit, and started punching in numbers.

Vance turned back toward the dark screen. Next to him, Jeanne stood, rigid. "Don't worry," he said, "They can take care of themselves."

She nodded.

"There's a street cam on south-west Water Street…." McGee said, hitting a button. The image popped up on the plasma, showing the busy street section.

"Can't see the alleyway," Vance said, irritation creeping into his voice. "Any other angles?"

McGee turned back toward the computer, punching in numbers. "Wait… here's something. The alley is in between two businesses. One of them has a camera above the back door."

On the plasma, an image of the alley came into focus. Vance could see the back end of the SUV, and the NCIS vehicle, parked behind it. McGee turned the camera toward the alley's only exit. Four men could be seen, each holding an automatic weapon.

"Damnit," McGee slipped.

Vance shot him a look.

"Sorry, Director."

He turned back toward the screen. McGee panned back to the company vehicle. In the driver's seat, Tony was clearly visible. He was turned toward the passenger's seat, arm resting on the steering column.

"I hope he has a plan that doesn't involve a lot of paperwork," Vance said.

As they watched, Tony reached up and switched the interior light off. The inside of the car went dark.

"Damnit," Vance swore, causing McGee to smirk. "McGee, can you get the alley lights to turn on?"

McGee moved back to the switch board, working quickly. His fingers swept methodically across the keyboard. A few seconds later, light filled the alley, and the car's interior came back into focus.

* * *

"Take your shirt off."

"What?" Ziva asked, incredulous.

Tony reached up and switched off the interior light, enveloping the car in darkness. "Ziva, can you think of _any_ other reason two people would be alone in a car, at night, in an alley?" he asked.

"Tony, it is _not_ night…" she started to say.

He pulled the release mechanism on his seat, sliding it backward. He looked up, his serious expression silencing her.

She sighed and started unbuttoning her shirt. "No, I cannot think of another reason."

"It's certainly better than getting dead," he commented, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his own shirt.

She pulled her arms out of the sleeves, revealing a white bra underneath. Tony swallowed hard, staring. It wasn't lacy or black, but the light color contrasted perfectly with her tanned skin.

She saw him looking at her chest and rolled her eyes. As she climbed into his lap, she said, "what did you expect, leopard print?"

He laughed nervously, "Maybe."

She placed her hands on his shoulders, her legs on either side of his seat. She moved her face close to his, tipping her head so that she could see the activity at the entrance. His skin was warm under her fingers. "They are grouped behind the fence. I can see… four pairs of feet."

Tony's pulse quickened. He could feel her breath on his shoulder, smell the lavender in her hair. All the blood in his head seemed to be rushing downward. He rested his head against the back of his seat. This was closer than the two of them had been in days. Ever since Paris, he had vowed to take things slowly. Now that plan seemed to be flying out the car window.

Her body tensed, "Here they come," she whispered, turning her head back to face him. Her eyes looked uncertain, as if she didn't know what he expected of her. She ran a hand through his brown hair. "Does this plan come with a next step?" she whispered into his ear.

Tony swallowed hard. He looked up at her with what he hoped was a cocky expression, "Let's make this look realistic." Without allowing her the chance to respond, he took hold of her hips and pulled her toward him. She flew forward, lips locking with his. Electricity surged through him, sending shockwaves through every cell of his body.

She laced her fingers into his hair, clenching tightly and pulling at the roots. His vocal cords let out an involuntary moan and he parted his lips slightly to deepen the kiss. Tony was beginning to think this plan wasn't such a good idea. His body was reacting to her, and he tried to push her back to put some distance between them.

She seemed to know exactly what he was trying to do, because instead of allowing herself to be moved backward, she slid forward on his lap, grinding her pelvis into him. He pulled his face back and bit his lip, suppressing a moan. This was neither the time, nor the place to lose control. He cursed himself for allowing his brain to momentarily forget _why_ she was half-naked in his lap in the company vehicle.

"Ziva," he panted, "where are they?"

She turned her head and started kissing his neck, all the while looking out the back window. "Halfway up the alley." Her voice was ragged.

"Guns?" he asked, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her lips away from his neck.

"I do not see any." She pried his fingers off her head and twisted his arm sideways. He grunted. "Perhaps they are buying it," she stopped momentarily, looking at his face. "I certainly am." With one of his hands pinned against the seat, she leaned down and kissed him forcibly, running her tongue along his lips, begging for entrance.

"Don't," he breathed. He was afraid to let her go too far; afraid that he would completely lose control.

"You said realistic," she said, her voice seductive. She knew how close he was to the edge; she was purposefully pushing him closer, taunting him.

He turned her face toward the window, planting light kisses along her jaw line, down her long neck, onto her collarbone. He smiled into her warm skin when he felt her gasp and tip her head backward. He tried not to let his gaze linger on her chest, only covered by her white bra. How easily he could remove it….

Her fingers started unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt. He pulled back, looking at her.

"They are two feet behind the car," she informed him, working the last button. She ran her hands up his bare chest, resting them on either side of his neck. His heartbeat quickened—his brain no longer in control. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her body against his, parting her lips with his tongue. He felt her heart thumping against his chest, her pelvis ground into him with astonishing force. If the knock on the window hadn't interrupted them, he may have followed the advice of his… other brain and thrown her into the back seat. He wasn't sure how he would have explained _that_ to Gibbs.

Ziva pulled back, ending the lip lock. Tony felt his body protest, and tried to get his breathing back under control as Ziva rolled down the window.

"May we help you?" she asked, voice sounding mildly amused.

The man on the other side of the window was tall, with a strong jaw, and dark brown eyes. He shot a glance at one of his comrades. "I need to get my vehicle out… if you do not mind." The man had a French accent.

Ziva didn't even blink. "I thought we left you enough room to pull around us."

The man clenched his jaw and casually pulled back his jacket to reveal his weapon. "If you don't mind," he said, voice hardening, "I would appreciate it if you found a different alley."

Ziva recoiled, pretending to be shocked by his side arm. "Okay, okay." She slid off Tony's lap and back into the passenger's seat. "We're leaving."

Tony put the car in reverse and looked behind him. The other three men were moving out of the way. He slowly moved the car toward the exit, sighing in relief when the car tires hit the asphalt roadway. In the rearview mirror, he saw Fornell's black Honda Accord parked a few blocks back.

In the passenger's seat, Ziva was buttoning her shirt. Tony suppressed a smile as he watched her. He pulled the car around the block and parked behind a building, a few car lengths away from Gibbs and Fornell. He and Ziva hopped out, and walked around the front of the car. A minute later, Gibbs rounded the corner, looking somewhat relieved to see them. When he stopped in front of the two agents, however, he raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

After what seemed like an eternity, "Missed a button, there, Agent David." He said, eyeing Ziva suspiciously.

Ziva looked down at her shirt. She sighed and started redoing her shirt so the buttons correctly line up. "It was Tony's idea," she said quickly.

Gibbs turned to gaze at Tony, eyebrows still raised.

"Ah, well… it was the only thing I could think of that didn't involve guns and death, Boss," he said with a sarcastic note in his voice. He shot a look toward Ziva, who was trying her best to look irritated.

Gibbs turned around and shook his head, "I don't even want to know, DiNozzo." He stole a look around the corner, giving Fornell a thumbs up. "Fornell and I are going to follow these monkeys… go back to headquarters and pick up McGee. I'll call you when I have a location."

Tony sighed and turned toward the car.

"And DiNozzo?" Gibbs added before turning the corner.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Button up your damn shirt."


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **10

**Disclaimer: **Don't own any of this.

**Note: **Thanks for sticking around, everybody! We have one more chapter left before the end, thanks to my lovely beta, as always!

* * *

19:00

The fact that Jeanne was standing between Agent McGee and Director Vance made the situation all the more awkward. As she watched the scene unfold on the plasma, she did her best to maintain a neutral expression.

Ziva, in all her tanned, bra-wearing splendor, was straddling Tony in the front seat of the company car. Although the angle was awkward, streaming from a camera attached to a building next door, it was obvious what they were doing. Ziva's hands were on either side of Tony's face, blocking him from view. She could make out Tony's hands, rubbing her back as she moved in his lap. As the scene became steamier, she forced her eyes away from the screen.

"Interesting tactic," Director Vance said dryly. "Is this something they do often?" He crossed his arms and directed the question at Agent McGee. She couldn't tell whether he was asking out of professional curiosity or for her benefit.

McGee cleared his throat, "Um… uh, no, Director Vance… not that I am aware of." McGee's eyes flitted toward his boss briefly, before looking back at the screen. He looked uncomfortable—tapping his foot, folding and unfolding his arms.

Jeanne felt hot tears stinging her eyes, blurring her vision. She tried to blink them back. The last thing she wanted to do was lose it in the middle of the NCIS headquarters, in front of Tony's associates. She slowly started to back away from the two men, toward the row of stadium seats in the rear of the room.

It was her turn to clear her throat. "I'm going to use the ladies room," she said, proud that her voice sounded stronger than she anticipated.

"Down the stairs, around the corner to the left," Vance said, without turning around. The toothpick in his mouth was twirling around, and his eyes were still glued to the screen, where his two agents were still sucking face like horny teenagers.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper. She turned toward the door, inadvertently catching McGee's eye momentarily. His expression was kind, perhaps even somewhat concerned. She stayed on course, crossing the room in a few long strides and launching herself through the door. As the door closed behind her, she took a deep breath, inhaling the clean, circulated air outside M-TAC. Composed, she followed Vance's directions to the ladies room.

Jeanne had been in the bathroom a few minutes when she heard a soft knock on the door. Since the restroom had multiple stalls, she assumed it was a janitor. This was why she was surprised to see Agent McGee appear in the doorway. He looked nervous. She turned back toward the mirror and splashed water on her face, the cold sending a shock through her system.

He cleared his throat, "Do you mind if… if I come in?" he said, poking his head around the door.

She nodded and watched him move into the restroom through the large mirror over the sink. He shut the door behind him, his hand lingering on the handle for a few seconds before turning to face her reflection.

She pulled a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser and blotted the excess water off her face. "Visit the ladies room often, Agent McGee?" she asked, smirking at him.

He crossed his arm and leaned against the sink to her right. "Um, no. First time," he answered, looking around. "It's cleaner."

She hid a smile. They stood in silence for a few minutes. She leaned forward, her hands pressed into the cold countertop, still facing the mirror. The wall color in the small bathroom made her skin look abnormally orange. She turned her head, meeting Agent McGee's eyes briefly. She sighed, "I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking."

He shook his head, "I wasn't."

She furrowed her brow, watching him. She was struck by how awkward he appeared, wondering if he was like this with all women, or just her. "For the last few years, I was content with hating him," she started, speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully. "It's easy not to think about something when you're a thousand miles away."

He nodded, silently waiting for her to continue.

"Before this week, I never gave much thought to the life he was leading _while_ we were "dating."" She used air quotes with the last word. She hated air quotes. "Here I was, thinking I had met this exceptional man… everything I ever wanted. He was kind, funny, handsome…." She trailed off.

McGee appeared more uncomfortable, if it was possible, listening to her talk about his partner.

She looked down at her hands, "Anyway… joke's on me, right? I never gave much thought to what… Anthony DiNozzo did with his spare time, when he wasn't masquerading as boyfriend of the year." She sighed heavily, "All these unanswered questions have been swarming around in my head." Jeanne flicked a tear away with her finger, feeling somewhat relieved to say these things out loud. "Anyway," she said, laughing softly, "I guess it doesn't change anything. Screwing other girls, making out with coworkers… it's an unfortunate part of being in a one-sided relationship."

Agent McGee rubbed his chin thoughtfully. A few seconds of silence went by before he spoke. "Tony never… told any of us, on the team, that he had a girlfriend," he started.

"That's because he di—."

He held up a finger, silencing her. "And only he and Director Shepard knew about the undercover operation—none of us had any idea he was involved in her search for your father."

She watched his facial expressions, unsure of where he was going with his story.

"He never talked about it, wouldn't answer questions about his "mystery woman," as Ziva described her…err… you."

He turned to look at her, his honest blue eyes boring into hers; his face was strained with something… loyalty, perhaps? Jeanne didn't blink, afraid any movement would stop him from continuing.

"He wouldn't discuss it, but we knew," he said.

She watched as he thought, choosing his words carefully.

"I don't claim to understand Tony, and I don't know when his assignment turned into something more… personal. But, I can tell you that he never so much as glanced at another woman while Tony DiNardo existed."

She wanted so badly to believe him, to believe that the person she loved had existed in some form or another. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek but made no move to wipe it away.

"I am only telling you this because you would never believe it coming from him." He paused and looked down at his shoes again. "And I think he would want you to know."

She nodded, knowing he was right; she never would have believed Tony. There were too many lies, cover-ups, and half-truths. She smiled sadly and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. Taking a step forward, she leaned into McGee on her tip-toes, kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

Tony and Ziva were standing, with an irritated looking Vance, by the time McGee and Jeanne returned to the bullpen. The director's arms were crossed and he was chewing on his toothpick like an angry logger. He was glaring at the two agents with a look that said he wasn't at all amused by their antics.

McGee sighed and crossed the room with Jeanne. Tony's brow furrowed as he watched them approach, a questioning look on his face.

"Ready to go?" McGee asked, trying to push the image of Ziva half-naked, straddling Tony out of his mind.

Ziva nodded, "Gibbs said he'd call when he and Fornell found the warehouse."

"You sure he'll call first?" Vance asked, removing the mangled toothpick from his mouth and tossing it into the wastebasket.

"No." Tony spoke for the first time, still looking at McGee. "If they find the warehouse, he won't wait." He took a deep breath and held the car keys up, dangling them from a finger. Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a second before tossing them to Ziva.

McGee blanched.

Ziva smirked.

Jeanne looked from one agent to another.

"Let's go," Tony said. The four of them turned away from Vance, leaving him to return to M-TAC alone.

On the way to the elevator, Tony stopped and turned around. Grabbing keys out of Gibbs desk, he unlocked a nearby filing cabinet and pulled a bullet proof vest out. "Pull the car around, Jeanne and I will meet you downstairs."

McGee and Ziva did as they were told. As the elevator doors closed behind them, McGee glanced at Ziva, swinging the car keys around her finger with a smirk still on her face.

_God help us all, _he thought.

* * *

Tony turned toward Jeanne, holding the blue vest in his hand. He cleared his throat, "this is merely for show," he explained, studying her face, "you won't be in any danger." Her eyes were unreadable, mouth set in a straight line, face determined. She nodded vigorously. He slipped the vest carefully over her head, letting her pull her hair out from underneath.

"And my daughter?" she asked, locking eyes with Tony as he worked on the Velcro straps.

"Nothing will happen to your daughter," he said without hesitation. "I promise." He reached behind her and tightened the last strap, letting his hands linger on the vest for a few seconds. "How does that feel?"

She stuck her thumbs under the blue fabric and tugged it back and forth, "like I'm wearing an X-Ray apron," she said, offering a small smile.

He nodded and pulled an extra earpiece out of Gibbs' desk drawer, handing it to her. "Keep this in your ear at all times," he said. "The switch turns it on and off and you hold the blue button down to talk." He watched as she gingerly rotated it into her ear.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Like someone who is ready to put these last few days behind her," he answered honestly. He glanced down at his shoes. "Look, Jeanne…" he started.

She waved him off, "you don't have to apologize. You were doing your job."

He nodded, "That's true, but that doesn't mean I wanted you to have a front row seat."

"I admit I was a little… upset at first. But I talked to McGee."

Tony jerked his head back up, "McGee?"

She nodded again, "He put things in perspective for me," she pushed her hair behind her ears. "You're lucky. He's a good friend."

Tony was momentarily speechless. He had wondered where Jeanne and McGee were when they had arrived back from the field, but McGee had never been overly consoling to anybody. "Uh… yeah, he's a competent partner."

She snorted and started toward the elevator. "You can never give credit where credit is due."

Before he followed her, he had a thought. Wrenching open Gibbs' desk one last time, he pulled the naval blueprint from its place in the bottom drawer.

* * *

20:15

"Never again." McGee said as he threw himself out of the passenger's seat.

"You are being melodramatic, McGee," Ziva snapped, slamming the driver's side door closed and narrowing her eyes.

"You side-swiped a garbage truck!" he retorted, eyes wide with horror.

"He was not far enough over!"

"He was parked!" McGee said incredulously. He opened the door for Jeanne, who slid across the backseat and out of the car. She looked relieved that the car ride was over. Whether her unease was caused by the current company or Ziva's reckless driving was unclear. After exiting the vehicle, she adjusted her bullet-proof vest and glanced around.

Ziva shot a look at Tony, who offered an uncomfortable smile as his eyes shifted between the two agents. Finally, he said, "he was parallel parked two lanes over, Ricky Bobby." He put his hand on the small of her back and directed her toward where Gibbs' car was parked.

"Ricky _who_?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Nevermind." He said, moving forward at a quickened pace.

"You said we needed to get here quickly," she said, allowing him to propel her forward.

"That I did," Tony replied.

"And I did just what you said," she added, pointedly.

McGee rolled his eyes, following behind the two agents, Jeanne trailing behind.

"That you did."

"Would the three of you keep it down?" Fornell poked his head around the corner, about ten paces behind where their car was parked.

They picked up the pace, rounding a brick wall into a thin alleyway. Gibbs and Fornell stood, surrounded by a half-dozen FBI agents, all clad in black, all holding semi-automatic weapons.

"Warehouse is around the corner, two blocks over," Gibbs was saying, "Leah's in a back room on the second floor."

"There's only two ways into that room. A door, guarded by two armed men, and one window," Fornell turned to face Ziva, "a small window."

Ziva didn't react. "Is there a way up?"

He nodded, "drainpipe, small window ledge on the first floor, and a maple tree. Take your pick."

Gibbs unrolled a map of the building, and pointed out the entryways to the group of FBI agents. Tony listened as his boss explained how they were planning on taking down six-plus, armed, arms-dealers.

* * *

Tony and McGee were each holding one of Ziva's ankles, steadying her as she wrapped her fingertips around the window ledge of the first floor. Tony heard a whispered grunt as she pulled herself up, perching like a cat on the thin ledge, balancing carefully.

"In position," McGee said quietly, speaking into his earpiece.

"Copy that," Gibbs' returned.

The two agents crouched down next to the building, making sure they couldn't be seen from the street. Tony glanced up at Ziva, shooting her a thumbs-up. She nodded, steadying herself with the drainpipe, ready to make the final ascent.

From around the corner, they heard Gibbs shout, followed by the sound of two metallic doors being forcibly opened. Above them, Ziva shimmied up the remaining length of pipe and broke the window open with her elbow. Glass fragments fell like raindrops, missing Tony and McGee by centimeters. Tony held his breath as he watched Ziva lift herself onto the second-story ledge and leap easily through the window, disappearing into the dark building.

"Alright," McGee said, glancing sideways at Tony, "let's hope this goes according to pl…." His sentence was cut off by two gunshots.

Tony's heart sank. He looked up to where Ziva had just disappeared. The room was still dark. "Damnit." His thoughts shifted briefly to Jeanne; he hoped she would stay put until it was over.

* * *

_Damnit_, Gibbs thought as he watched Bruno aim his weapon at the overhead lighting system dangling from the ceiling of the warehouse. The bulb shattered, sparking once and enveloping the large room into darkness. It was a clever tactic, they did have the home court advantage. The windows were covered in black paint and the only light was from underneath the outside door.

Gibbs crouched down and unclipped his gun from the holster, eyes adjusting to the darkness. He heard the shuffling of feat and hushed voices. His senses were on high alert—he tried to focus on the movements around him. Bruno had been five feet away when he shot the light off.

He waited until he felt a light breeze ruffle the hair on his forehead before standing up and cocking his gun. "Don't. move." He pointed his weapon at what he assumed was the man's temple. The skin was too soft to be the bone of the forehead. Just then, the room lit up in red light.

One of the FBI agents was holding a flare, sizzling in his hand, loose sparks shooting toward the floor before disappearing.

Gibbs kept his eyes focused on Bruno, his gun pushed against the man's temple.

* * *

Ziva heard the gunshots and knew she needed to work fast. She crossed the room in two long strides. The little girl was sitting Indian-style in the corner, hugging a small stuffed bear. She frowned and eyed Ziva cautiously as she approached.

"Leah?" she asked softly, trying not to startle her.

Her brow creased and she narrowed her eyes, hugging her stuffed toy closer.

Ziva knelt down in front of her. Her curly brown hair was unruly, wild brown locks pointing every which way. Her face was clean, but her clothes were unwrinkled and shoes untied. Ziva reached out slowly and smoothed the girl's hair soothingly.

"Leah," she said quietly, "I'm a friend of your mom's. I'm going to take you home."

The little girl's jaw was set, eyes still narrowed at Ziva. She appeared to be considering her options. Ziva wondered how much she could understand, being only two-and-a-half.

After another few seconds, Leah nodded. "Okay. See mommy," she said.

Ziva stood up and took Leah's hand, leading her toward the window. She wasn't sure how this next part of the plan was going to work. She knelt down again, eye-to-eye with the little girl. She undid the knot in the rope tied around her middle. "Leah, I'm going to tie this rope around you and lower you to the ground," she explained as she manipulated the rope into a makeshift harness.

Leah's eyes were saucers. Ziva sighed and reached out to stroke the little girl's hair with her hand. She was not good with children, never had been around any for long periods of time. She thought for a minute, trying to think of something soothing to say.

"Leah… I know this sounds scary. I promise I will not let you fall," she pushed her hair behind her ears nervously. "Here is what I need you to do," she said. Ziva reached out and picked the girl's stuffed bear off the floor and handed it to her. "I want you to shut your eyes, and if you start feeling scared, squeeze your bear."

Leah hugged her bear and nodded, closing her eyes as instructed. Ziva was grateful she was choosing to follow orders, it made things easier.

"Okay," she said, lifting Leah off her feet and sitting her on the window ledge. "Now, do not open your eyes until I say." She leaned over the window and pushed the speaker button. "Tony?"

"Ziva, what the hell is going on in there?" Tony asked, his voice slightly panicked.

"I do not know what is happening on the main floor, but Leah and I are ready," she responded, glancing back at the interior door. She could hear the shouts of the people below, but could not distinguish specific voices.

"Belay on."

"Belaying," she said before releasing the button again. Slowly, she started lowering the two-year-old down to the waiting agents. Leah kept her eyes closed and her arms around her bear the whole way down. _Jeanne,_ Ziva thought, _is raising a very brave little girl._

Tony grabbed hold of Leah as soon as she was in reach. Ziva watched as he carefully unknotted the rope and pulled it free of her small body. She watched as he did a quick once-over, ensuring she was not hurt. His gaze lingered on her face and he smoothed her curls. She thought he was probably wondering if Jeanne was being truthful, wondering if she could be his daughter.

Ziva took a deep breath, "tell her she can open her eyes."

Tony must have listened to her because as he turned to walk toward where Jeanne was waiting, the little girl's eyes flew open. She looked up at Ziva, still standing in the window, and waved a little hand. Ziva lifted her own hand and waved back.

_Goodbye, Jeanne,_ she thought to herself. She turned toward the door, listening carefully for more gunshots downstairs. She heard none, and quietly pushed open the interior door to the warehouse.

Before she had made it through the doorframe completely, a voice stopped her.

"Don't move."

Gibbs looked around the room, ensuring he hadn't missed anyone. The red flare flickered, but made it possible to see. _Five_, he thought. Fornell had two lying face-down on the floor in front of him, one was to the left surrounded by three FBI agents, and another near the door being handcuffed. Bruno, already handcuffed by Gibbs was being escorted to the NCIS vehicle. _Only five._

Before his next thought could materialize, he heard the sixth man speak.

"Don't move," the voice commanded.

* * *

Looking up, Gibbs saw Ziva walking slowly down the steps with her hands on her head. The Frenchman's gun was pointed at the back of her head, and he was instructing her to move forward. As they reached the bottom step, the man spoke.

"Move, and I will shoot her," he said with a thick French accent.

Gibbs had only two options. One was to try and talk some sense into the man, convince him that his plan was going to be a lose-lose situation. He chose the less safe option. Gibbs laughed.

"What exactly are you laughing at?" He did just what Gibbs wanted; the man's head snapped toward him. This brief lapse of focus was long enough for Ziva to round-kick the gun out of his hand. It slid across the floor, coming to a stop right in front of Gibbs' feet.

His face was still stretched in a smile as he watched Ziva twist the man's body around, pinning his hands behind his back. She pushed him forward, so that he was standing a few feet in front of Gibbs. He tossed her a pair of handcuffs.

"You picked the wrong person to hold hostage," he said, smirking at the Frenchman.

Ziva looked up and smiled.

A few seconds later, the front door slammed open to reveal Tony and McGee, guns drawn, ready for a fight. Gibbs watched as they quickly assessed the situation, looking relieved as they lowered their weapons.

"Looks like everything is under control," McGee noted.

"Guess we won't be needing this then," Tony said, holding up the blueprint.

"Nope," Gibbs replied, grateful that his senior agent had thought to grab the naval weapon blueprint before leaving the building. Bruno was staring at the tube in Tony's hand longingly.

"Vance will be happy about that," Tony said.

Gibbs nodded, "Yes he will."


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: **Personal Demons

**Chapter: **11

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 10

**Note: **I apologize for taking so long on this chapter. The end was more difficult to write than I had planned. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading, thank you for sticking with me!

* * *

22:00

Fornell and his team gathered all the perpetrators together and escorted them back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Vance had an agreement with the Director of the FBI, Robert Mueller, to turn the case over after the blueprints were found and Leah was returned to her mother.

"It saves us the paperwork," Gibbs argued when Tony had questioned the decision.

Because the case had initially involved the CIA and their undercover operation, Tony had no doubt the whole thing would have turned into a turf war between all involved agencies. As he watched the four black FBI vehicles pull away, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved that it was almost over.

"You planning on spending the night here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs voice broke through his thoughts. Gibbs and Ziva were already in the car, waiting.

"Where's McGee?" he asked, looking around for the last member of the team.

"He drove Jeanne and Leah back to NCIS," Ziva answered as Tony swung the door open and dove into the backseat. Gibbs had already let his foot off the break, and Tony barely had the door shut before they were turning out of the parking lot.

"Ducky's checking her out," Gibbs added.

Tony nodded and leaned his head back, exhausted. He watched the dark streets fly by, illuminated only by streetlights.

* * *

22:00

Jeanne didn't want to put Leah down for a second; she knew the past few days would haunt her forever. She and Dr. Mallard looked at her daughter from hair to toenails. Other than a few scratches and mild dehydration, Leah appeared to be in perfect condition. Thinking about how her only child had spent the past forty-eight hours made her physically ill.

"This has been a terrible ordeal for both of you," Dr. Mallard said gently, "but, we have things to be thankful for. Leah is unharmed and does not appear to be in any psychological distress."

Jeanne nodded as she rubbed Leah's back. Tears fell down her cheeks as she felt her warm little body relax in her arms. She hoped that he was right; Leah was tired and clingy, but did not seem to be emotionally distraught. She took a tissue from the box Dr. Mallard held out to her.

"Thank you," she said earnestly.

"It's my pleasure," he said with a small smile. "You should get her home."

She nodded and picked up Leah's diaper bag from the table. She was glad she had extra clothes and diapers stashed in her car for emergencies. She stepped into the elevator and decided at the last minute to make a quick detour before leaving the NCIS building for the last time.

* * *

22:30

The note was sitting on his desk when he arrived back at the NCIS headquarters.

_Tony DiNozzo_

He remembered the last time he had received a note from Jeanne. The circumstances were so different, yet the handwriting left him with a feeling of déjà-vu. He was almost afraid to open it; afraid that it would change the sense of closure he now had. Two days ago, all Tony wanted was to survive the case without losing his mind. He took a deep breath and slipped his finger under the tape and opened it.

_Tony,_

_I have rewritten this note about four times and still cannot adequately describe the feeling of peace I now have. Thank you._

_Jeanne_

Oddly enough, it was how he felt as well. He remembered how long it took to stop thinking of her every day, how much his heart had ached to hold her, how many times he started to dial her number out of habit, only to remember that she was gone. It was as if all those feelings had never really gone away. The past few days had opened Pandora's box and released all the contents. In retrospect, it was probably the only way he would ever truly get over it. He reread the letter a few times before placing it in the top drawer of his desk.

Tony looked across the small pathway to where Ziva was sitting, cleaning her gun. "Did you even shoot that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"No," she replied, carefully cleaning the barrel with the brush before twisting it back out. She held the open gun up to her eye to ensure she hadn't left any particles inside. After snapping it back into place, she looked up at Tony and smiled. "Always be prepared!"

Tony couldn't help but grin back. Ziva had some strange habits when it came to weapon cleanliness.

"Is she gone?" she asked.

He feigned confusion, shooting her an innocent smile. "Is who gone?"

She rolled her eyes and made a show of reloading her weapon, shoving the clip back in and laying it in front of her on the desk. She smiled sadistically.

Tony let out a short laugh, "Oh, you mean Jeanne," he said, as if he had already forgotten the ordeal. "Yeah, she's gone."

"And you are… feeling okay, yes?"

"Just peachy," he said, a sarcastic note creeping into his voice.

"Tony, it is alright to feel…."

"Ziva!" he interrupted.

"Yes?"

"When I feel something, you'll be the first to know," he said. He leaned forward and grabbed his backpack from underneath the desk.

"Technically, I will be the second," she said, watching him clear his desk and shove his weapon back into his holster. "You will know first."

"Know what?" McGee asked as he rounded the corner, carrying an evidence box and a stack of new case files.

"If Tony is feeling okay," she answered primly, glancing toward him with her eyebrows raised.

"I didn't realize he was sick," McGee said, feigning confusion. "You sick?"

Tony shrugged and shook his head, smiling, "Feel fine." Normally, McGee would jump on the chance to make him uncomfortable; the fact that he passed on the opportunity meant Tony was currently appearing more pathetic and in need of assistance than usual. _Oh well, I'll take what I can get,_ he thought to himself.

"You look fine," Gibbs said dryly as he rounded the corner, briskly moving toward his desk.

"Seems to be the consensus," Tony replied, shooting a smirk toward Ziva, who rolled her eyes.

The four agents finished locking their drawers and packing up their gear in silence. The office was empty, which Tony was grateful for. News of the case had spread like wildfire. Jeanne's sudden presence at the NCIS headquarters a few days earlier had only added fuel to the flames. He heard the hushed conversation over the water cooler and had been subjected to a few awkwardly silent elevator rides. Tony had no doubt that the gossip would die down after a few days.

McGee's voice broke through Tony's thoughts momentarily, "Ducky said Leah looked okay…"

Tony had tuned out the conversation his associates were having in the elevator, and now tried to piece together what he could.

The foursome stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the employee exit. Tony caught snippets of the conversation. From what he gathered, Leah appeared to be okay, Jeanne and Ducky discussed using a child psychologist, and mother and daughter were headed back to France shortly.

Tony hit the unlock button on his key ring and his vehicle chirped in response. Ziva and Gibbs broke off toward their respective cars, leaving Tony with McGee, who was parked directly behind him. He pulled the driver's side door open and tossed his bag inside unceremoniously. He didn't need to turn around to feel McGee's stare.

"I'm fine." Tony leaned against his car and shoved a hand through his hair. Across the parking lot, Ziva was climbing into her mini cooper. He saluted her as she squealed her tires and fled the darkened lot.

"I didn't say anything!" McGee protested, not skipping a beat.

"Then why do I feel like you're burning a hole through the back of my head?" he asked, finally turning to face McGee.

"It's just…." McGee trailed off, tapping his fingers on the roof of his car nervously. When he finally spoke again, his voice was patient. "Nobody expects you to be fine, Tony."

"So I've been told," he responded, a sarcastic note creeping into his voice.

They stood in silence for a few beats, staring.

"Well, if you ever _don't_ feel fine…." McGee trailed off again.

"Yeah, yeah, I know where to find you." He rolled his eyes and turned away, ready to slide into the front seat and hyper-drive himself away from NCIS.

"Or Ziva."

Tony froze.

McGee let the words hang between them for a few seconds. "Or Gibbs," he added.

_He knows._

"Anyway," he continued without pausing, "Have a great weekend."

Tony watched as McGee climbed into his car and turned the ignition on. "Hey, McGee," he called over the sound of the engine turning over.

"Yeah?" McGee poked his head back out.

"I don't—know what you said to Jeanne earlier," he started, not knowing where he was going.

After a few seconds, McGee nodded. "Don't mention it," he replied with a small smile.

As Tony watched him pull away, he couldn't help but wonder when the two of them had moved from coworkers to friends.

* * *

Wednesday 00:00

Ziva sat on the hood of her car and leaned back against the windshield, staring at the night sky. She had made it from work to Tony's apartment in eight minutes—a new record. The cool breeze made her shiver, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders.

A few minutes went by before she heard the sound of Tony's car pulling into the next parking space.

"Hey," he said as he got out of the car. His voice was controlled, even.

"Hey," she repeated, still gazing up at the sky.

A few seconds later, he pushed himself onto the hood of her car, and leaned back against the window next to her. She stole a glance in his direction; he looked calm, staring into the night sky.

"It's cold," he said after a few seconds of silence.

She smiled, thinking of their night in Paris. Tony's inability to handle cold climate was what had started their relationship.

"It is April, Tony."

"April is Spring," he replied, "Spring should be warm."

She turned her head toward him. His eyes looked tired, his hair was mussed and blowing in the soft breeze. Seeing him vulnerable scared her. He finally turned his head to face her and wrapped his cold fingers around hers, offering a small smile. She felt her face turn pink, thankful that it was hidden by the dark sky.

"I am fine, you know."

"I know," she returned softly.

"She's _is _gone."

Ziva nodded, "I know."

"I…" Tony trailed off for a second, "am really _really _cold."

Ziva snorted.

Tony let go of her hand and rolled onto his side, cupping her face. Ziva's breath caught in her throat as she felt his thumbs rub her jaw line. He brought his lips down to meet hers, kissing her softly. Instinctively, her free hand knotted into his hair, massaging his scalp and pushing his lips toward hers. He deepened the kiss, moving a hand to her back, arching her closer. Tony shifted his weight, pushing her back into the cold metal of the car. She shivered.

He ran a hand down her side to her thigh, squeezing lightly. She fought the urge to groan as Tony pulled her knee up, allowing their bodies to mold together. Letting him have control was difficult, something that did not come easily to her. In the past, she would have insisted on being on top. The difference, however was that she trusted Tony. She had not always trusted others.

A few minutes later, Ziva broke off the kiss and dropped her head down onto the windshield.

Tony exhaled and turned to look at his apartment building briefly. "We're giving my neighbors quite the show," he said, catching his breath.

Ziva noticed there were still a few lights on in different apartments, despite the early hour.

Tony turned her face toward his, his gentle eyes locked with hers. "Come upstairs."

She swallowed. She did not need to ask what he was implying. Ziva had been in his apartment many times; she had spent the night many times, but this was going to be different. Tony's idea of 'taking it slow' was the complete absence of sex, not normally his style. Ziva had respected it, nonetheless. He had broke when he hurt Jeanne, there was no denying it. Three years later, every relationship-related decision still revolved around the end of his one long-term romance.

She tried to think of a reason it was a bad idea, coming up with nothing. Her brain was shouting a hundred different reasons she should not follow him upstairs, but she and her brain both knew what her answer would be.

"Okay."

She took the hand he held out to her, allowing him to help her off the hood of the car. Together, they climbed the stairs toward Tony's apartment.

* * *

_Five days later._

Tony tapped the edge of his pencil against his chin and half-listened to Abby's description of the molecular makeup of calcified vomit.

_Vomit_, he thought.

Across the room, McGee was nodding enthusiastically about her analysis, occasionally adding a nerdy tidbit.

"Abby!"

Her head shot up at Gibbs' bark. "Sorry… my point is, I think he had Moo Shu pork for dinner."

"Are you sure it was Moo Shu?" McGee asked. "Some different types of Asian sauces can…"

"McGee!"

After a few beats of silence, Abby added, "I'm 94.3% sure. Moo Shu pork."

"McGee, call Ziva and ask her to get a sample of every Moo-whatever sauce in the two-mile walking radius around our dead Naval officer. Tell her to bring it to Abby."

"Right, boss." McGee nodded and headed toward the doors, pulling his phone out as he walked.

"Tony, with me." He motioned Tony to follow after setting Abby's Caf-Pow on the table.

"Actually, Gibbs…" she said, stopping him before he reached the double doors. "Um… can I borrow Tony for a second?"

Gibbs looked at her suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. After a few beats, he nodded. "I'll be upstairs waiting. Make it fast, Abbs."

Tony watched as Gibbs disappeared around the corner, the doors hissing shut behind him. He turned back toward Abby, a questioning look on his face.

She slipped off her lab stool and opened the drawer under the table, pulling out a slim manila envelope. She shut the drawer again and set it on the table in front of him.

"I don't want you to be mad."

Tony furrowed his brow, "be mad about what, Abby?"

She sighed and motioned toward the envelope. "That."

"That…?" He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. "Cryptic much?"

"That… is the result of the paternity test I ran on Leah Benoit."

Tony felt all the blood run out of his face. "Did you…."

"Read it?" she finished. "No."

Tony stared at the envelope, deciding.

"You don't have to open it here," Abby said.

Tony thought about it. Truthfully, he didn't think he could wait until he got home to look at the contents. Tony closed his eyes for a second before running his finger under the seal, tearing it open. Reaching inside, he pulled the folded printer paper out. He took a deep breath before he read.

Anthony DiNozzo: _Negative DNA match_

Every pore of his body breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled a stool out from under the table, and collapsed onto it.

Abby was trying hard to contain herself. "It's negative, isn't it! Thank goodness." She leapt off the stool and threw her arms around Tony's shoulders.

He grunted as she squeezed him. "Thanks, Abby." His eyes went to the next line on the paper. "What does this mean?"

Jeanne Benoit: _26% DNA match_

"That's weird." Abby glanced at the paper and tipped her head, "it means, Jeanne wasn't being completely honest."

"Leah is her daughter?" Tony asked, feeling a slight twinge of anger.

Abby took the form out of his hands and studied it for a minute. "No… 26% isn't high enough to be her parent."

"Then what…"

"They're related somehow—maybe sisters, or cousins—I couldn't tell you for sure without DNA samples from other family members."

"She lied."

Abby turned to face him, leaning on the table, "Not lied, exactly. She just didn't tell the whole truth. Maybe there was a reason she _couldn't_ tell you. We've seen how dangerous her family can be."

Tony nodded, still staring at the paper in Abby's hands. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "I'd better get back upstairs," he said. "Gibbs is waiting."

Abby put a hand on his shoulder, "I'm glad she wasn't lying about you being Leah's father, Tony."

Tony nodded and stood up. He rubbed the wrinkles from his pants. "Abby… thank you," he smiled at her.

"You're welcome," she said, offering a small smile.

He grabbed the paper off the table, crumpling it as he turned to leave. Just before exiting the lab, he made a show of slam dunking the wad into the rolling trash can. "And DiNozzo scores the winning basket!" he shouted, raising his arms above his head and jogging through the doors.

Abby turned toward Colonel Mass Spec and rolled her eyes. "Looks like the old Tony's back," she said with a grin.

* * *

_Phoof_


End file.
